Edge
by T.L. Arens
Summary: AU Post 5.22 During five years of grief, Dean carved a quiet new life. But his wounds never healed. Sam returned and following him comes an opened post-apocalyptic Pandora's Box. Big Brother!Dean, Messed up!Sam
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I love to make guesses and scenarios of my own if for no other reason than to see how close or far to the mark I get. Apologies to SamGirls. I might write the next one, depending on the feedback.**

EDGE

It required every ounce of his willpower to keep the tears and heartache at bay. The night Dean stumbled to Lisa's doorstep, he did so under the strength of shock. She held him, fed him, after a few hours and several beers, she put him to bed.

Dean covered his tumultuous pain with masks and denial. He repeatedly told himself that Sam was just in college. That's all. The last five years never existed. Their father died a good, peaceful death ...

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Dean kept that facade in place and it carried him all of two weeks. By then he found an under-the-table job as a part-time mechanic. He buried himself in mindless work and the bottle. He played daddy to little Ben and tried to be a good man to Lisa.

The operative word: 'tried'. Everything reminded him of Sam.

And Sam was in Hell.

Sam was in Hell.

Dean paid bills and cut the lawn. He repaired household problems and picked up Ben from school. He used Lisa's car because he could not drive the Impala. She was part of a life long since gone. Dean washed her, polished her and covered her with a black shroud. He sealed her in storage. He scrubbed, burned and locked up all evidence of his former life. He pretended all the scars on his body did not exist. He could not even look at the tattoo over his left breast. He brushed it off as unimportant when Lisa asked. _Please, please don't ask anymore!_

But as fast as Dean fortified walls around his fragile psyche, the abyss in his soul tore them down. Just a few years ago, he and Sam became orphans. Just a while ago, he became the sole survivor of a family cursed and dead.

It was like reliving Cold Oak all over again. Except that Cold Oak haunted him day after day. Sam made him promise not to bring him back. Dean became a zombie inside. Each day he wallowed through the mundane. Then nightmares hit.

Three nights in a row, Dean retired at the same time. The dreams trapped him with memories and visions of horror. He changed his sleep patterns with the same results. He took sleeping pills, drank more then drank less. The same scenarios, sometimes even worse dreams lashed through his mind, leaving him screaming, cold and emotionally distraught.

Lisa tried to understand. But he met her consolatory attempts with hostility, denial and eventually, shouting matches.

"I want you to get help, Dean," she ordered. "You've been through something I can't fix. Get help or you'll self destruct."

Dean refused at first. The whole shrink thing only dredged up memories of another case (what DIDN'T remind him of one case or another?). But the intense nightmares shackled him to his inner turmoil. One such night, he fled the bed, the vision still blood-fresh. He tripped over the blankets, landed hard on the floor and curled in, holding himself tightly. Dean called Sam's name over and over. Lisa helplessly wept.

Doctor Cambers could not see Dean due to a schedule conflict. So the office asked if he'd mind a visit with Doctor Swiftsen.

"Is she good looking?" Dean winked as he casually scripted his john henry across the registration slip. The receptionist, a chubby, cranky thing, merely scowled at him. Dean took a seat in the waiting room and stared at a painting while the TV quietly played the Weather Channel.

This was normal? Work, house work, yard work... the weather channel. None of it added to anything more than more work.

Dean rolled his head to the left and listened to a couple quietly bicker about finances and why the water bill was so high. A toddler sat on the floor at their feet and proceeded to pull a doll apart.

Creepy.

Some older lady, stationed several seats away, just sat and stared. The blank expression told Dean she too suffered her own private hell. Dean's body languished under evil memories. He always prayed he'd not live a life of loneliness. _I'm so tired, Sam_, he'd often say.

Sam. Sam. Not having Sam there was like losing breath. Dean choked on his tears and bit his lip to maintain control.

"Dean Winchester?"

The nurse's voice shocked him because Dean realized he used his real name. How stupid was that? His father would kick his ass into tomorrow. Dean did not meet her smile. He concentrated on the next breath, on blocking tears, on keeping himself intact.

The nurse led him to a small room complete with a love seat, a desk, a floor-to-ceiling shelf and a computer. She lipped something about the doctor arriving momentarily. She departed, unfazed by his silence.

Dean sat, tense and nervous. He straddled the fences of his own emotional edge. A gentleman entered the room and extended his hand for a shake. Dean's eyes climbed until he met the face of someone in their late forties. He tossed 'Doctor Shrink' half a smile. Maybe he could fake his way through this office visit. He could swing one way and get himself locked up or slide another direction and not worry about coming back.

But then, that certainly would not solve anything.

"Dean Winchester," the doctor rolled his name as though it were sacred. "Born Lawrence, Kansas. Thirty-plus years young. And a troublemaker."

Dean stared, baffled at his sloppiness. The doctor read his face and lined his lips in a frank smile. "My name is Swiftsen. According to your initiate, here, you're experiencing severe night terrors. You have trouble sleeping at all and recently had an anxiety attack."

Dean shrugged. "Guess so."

"Tell me about yourself, Dean."

"It's all right there in someone else's scribbles, Doc."

"I don't read other people's notes, Dean. That's just a formality. I want to hear it all from you."

Dean shifted, pulled on a smile. "I work a regular job, live with a lovely girl and her son. It's all peachy."

"Except the nightmares."

"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect."

"Alright. How about those nightmares?"

"What of them?"

Swiftsen turned from his computer, pushed his chair closer to Dean and removed his glasses. "Are your dreams long or short? Are they about people or events?"

Dean grinned. "I get a full course each and every night. A table loaded with all the best shit you could ask for."

Swiftsen nodded sagely. "So... what exactly brings you here, Dean? I can see you're evading the truth and thereby, the issue."

Dean scanned the wall to his right. Some crappy painting of a sailboat hung next to a framed photograph of Lake Eerie. "Yeah, well, I guess that's not all. I just... came through-" he swallowed hard. "-hell. You know? I-"

"You recently had a death in the family."

Dean nailed the doctor hard with large tear-burned eyes. Damn! Damn! "Yeah," he relented. "Yeah. He died saving the world." Dean figured the doctor would assume he used a metaphore.

"You watched him die."

"S-stop," Dean lost his voice. His walls crumbled a little more. "Stop. I can't do this anymore."

"You are bleeding, Dean."

Instinctively, Dean examined himself but found no wounds there. His gaze drilled into Swiftsen. "That's not funny."

"Dean, the soul bleeds every bit as much as the body. I sensed it the moment I walked in here."

Dean scoffed. "Wow. Doctor Super-psychic to the rescue. Tell me, Doc, what color are my boxers?"

"The more walls you build, Dean, the harder they'll come crashing around you. Either you stop building them or you'll end up buried."

That was it. Dean stood to leave. "That's fabulous advice, Doc! Seriously! I'll go home and-and start looking for a grave site!" he reached for the door knob.

"Sam would want you to get help."

Dean's heart stopped, frozen with shock, struck by his brother's precious name. And all Dean's walls came tumbling down. He crashed to his knees, unable to breathe, incapable of seeing or hearing. The blood in his veins stopped dead. Tears poured over his face as Dean crumbled against the door. Unable to move or help himself, Dean melted into tears.

_Dean drove up the dirt road to the abandoned farm where he agreed to meet Castiel. The Impala purred until he parked her several yards off. Armed with weapons and whichever emotional mask he found strong enough, Dean approached the Angel. His eyes stole a final glance at the car. Her black paint gleamed dark red in the bloody sunset. _

_Cas offered a practical smile. A glint hit his eyes as a light flared in the distance. Dean had no strength to return the smile. "What's this about, Cas?" he asked wearily. "I can't play for very long. Lisa's gettin' tired of me taking off on short notice."_

"_I was told to come here and to bring you. That's all I know at the moment."_

_Dean glared. More heavenly B.S. _

"_There!" Castiel's excitement confused Dean until he followed the Angel's line of sight. One third of a mile away, a blue-white spark snapped out. A figure emerged, striding along the ground as though he owned it. The tall figure had a body built like stone, broad as though jacked on steroids. _

"_Good Lord," Castiel murmured. "I've not seen him in thousands of years."_

"_What?" Dean managed. "Friend of yours?"_

"_No. I know him only by reputation. His name is Thor."_

_Dean flinched, confused. Thor was just a myth. "Um, I thought-" he cut himself off, recalling the wacko motel that trapped him and Sam. A couple dozen Pagan gods rented rooms there for some goofy 'divine' convention. So Dean shut his mouth and swallowed the fact that Thor was a real person._

_The great figure neared them and Dean realized the Norse god carried something in his arms. It wasn't until Thor came within ten feet that Dean's heart stopped. He could not breathe._

_Thor stood before him. His bright blue eyes shined with an unnatural light. His face, worn with unspeakable torments, drifted from Dean to the unconscious form he held with great care. "I was too arrogant to ask for redemption. But he was given redemption long ago. I asked to bring him here to you because he is worth everything it took to save him. Thor lowered and laid Sam's languid body at Dean's feet. He stood, eyes never leaving Sam. "I wish..." Thor shook his head, unable to finish. His striking blue eyes pinned Dean's with a sad smile that expressed deep regret. Without another word, Thor turned and disappeared._

_Dean gazed into his long-lost brother's face. Sam lay pale and dirty. His clothes, long since torn and ragged, revealed a long, terrible journey. Sam's eyes opened at Dean's gentle touch. Tears fell over Sam's temples into his hair._

_Forgive me. Only Sam's lips moved; his voice long since ripped out his throat from endless screaming. _

Dean woke, facing a white ceiling. He lay on a bed, a soft grey blanket tossed over him. Strangely enough, he felt peaceful. But then, he just woke up. Who knows how he'll feel in another couple of hours.

The door to his left opened and a lady peeked in. Their eyes crossed paths and she entered with a light smile. "How are you feeling at the moment, Mr. Winchester?"

"All right, I guess. How did I... last I remembered-"

"You passed out."

"What?"

"We've already called your wife, Mr. Winchester. We told her you'd be staying the night with us."

"How long was I out?"

"Twelve hours."

Dean sat up and the dream of Thor and Sam and Castiel flashed across his eyes. It felt so friggin real. And what amazed Dean was just thinking of Sam did not conjure the emo-effect. Dean creased his face with confusion and directed it at his visitor.

"You had what we call a melt-down, Mr. Winchester."

"Dean. And when can I crash out of here?"

"After breakfast and a couple of forms we need you to fill."

"What-uh-what time is it?" Dean swung his legs over the bedside and rubbed an ache in his neck.

"Eight-thirty A.M. There's a bathroom there by the desk and when you're ready, come out, take a right hand turn and take the first door to your left."

Dean waited until she departed. He sat there as befuddlement turned to sadness. But the sadness did not deepen. Maybe they gave him something for the anguish. Dean took care of business then made his way to the mystery room on the left. He did not care that he walked about only in his socks. The floor chilled his feet, but he chose to ignore it.

He opened the door and found a room filed with tables and occupied by a dozen or more people. A TV silently played at the far left corner. Drapes hung partly opened to a quiet cloudy day.

"Hi there!" a girl greeted him too cheerfully. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No." Dean could not keep the wince out of his eyes.

"Well, come on. I'll get you served up." She planted her hands on his broad shoulders and gently guided him to the serving counter. She plucked out a plate and tray, silverware and a coffee cup.

Dean didn't stop to realize someone was taking care of him. He followed her lead, just watching her demeanor, thinking about Lisa. "So, what do they call you around here?"

Her hazel eyes caught him with annoying brightness. "I have a name."

"Yeah. That's good."

"I'm Jenny."

"Jenny," Dean echoed. "You always this chipper?"

Her face broadened in a bigger smile. "I like what I do."

"Okay."

She gathered a plateful of goodies, coffee and added juice to the mix. She led him to a table occupied by two other men. Dean sat down and stared at the plate. Food really wasn't on his mind at the moment. Other than memory of the dream, his head lay open like a blank page.

Jenny waited until Dean settled at the table. "Dean, this is Ed and Jack. Fellas, this is Dean. Take care of him for me, will ya?"

The two men, somewhere in their fifties, nodded their promise and Jenny left with a satisfied smile. Dean took a grateful gulp of coffee, pleased to have something wipe the nasty taste in his mouth. He stabbed a mound of eggs.

Jack spoke first: "so, Dean, what's your psychosis?"

Dean's eyes snapped up as he mulled through the eggs. "'scuse me?"

Ed smiled more to himself as he stirred his fried potatoes. "What they got you in here for?" he translated.

"Oh. Uh, religious fanaticism," Dean repeated what another psychiatrist once told him. He ate a bit of his potatoes and sipped his juice.

"Oh boy," Jack bounced his brows. "Another one of those."

Dean's eyes steeled. "What? Is that a popular subject around here?" Both his peers bounced their heads. Dean rolled his eyes. "So much for originality."

Ed grinned again. "So what are you? Angel? Demon? The Devil himself?"

"No." Dean's eyes dropped to his plate. "I sorta decided not to go that route."

_Sam,_ Dean thought dismally, _I will miss you for the rest of my life._

Ed's grin turned eager. "There was one fellow in here, not too long ago. He said he was a Horseman. He said he was War." Ed wheezed in laughter. "War!"

Dean smirked. "I can tell you all about War. He held a whole town captive, made everybody fight each other. In the end, he lost several fingers and a ring."

His present companions stared blankly at him until Ed nodded. "Uh-huh."

Dr. Swiftsen welcomed Dean into his office after thirty minutes of slavery, signing medical and legal forms. Dean's old life slipped further and further away with each signature. He worried his real name might be revealed. He was, after all, wanted in three states, if not more.

Dean sat on the sofa again, still unable to look Swiftsen in the eyes. He felt exposed.

"Post traumatic stress requires a long road to recovery, Dean," Swiftsen started. "You've taken the first crucial steps. You came for help."

Dean blinked slowly. "Doc-"

"You can call me Justin."

"Right," Dean muttered. "If we're going to be doing the whole caring-sharing, let-me-sob-about-my-life bit, I'll need to warn you ahead of time that I've been through ..." Dean almost lost his composure, thinking about Jo. He recovered with a clearing of his throat. "Let me say that you would not believe me, no matter how much evidence I bring to your office." Dean squirmed under Justin's intense gaze.

"Let me answer that, Dean by telling you that you are safe here. No one will know anything outside these walls. We are here to help you. All soldiers need to rest before picking up the pieces. You're not leaving an old life, Dean. You are brand new. Reborn. You can't expect yourself to pick up the pieces of an old life. You place them in a locker and you start over. And beginnings can be very difficult."

Swiftsen shifted in his seat and set his clipboard down. "As for believing you: I am certain that your life has been no less fantastic than some other patients of mine. You've been through war. I know the look of it. You've lost people you loved. You're lost. And there's no shame in any of it, Dean. No shame in tears, they don't make you any less or weaker a person. I'm guessing someone must have told you to be a big boy at one point, that big boys don't cry. I'm going to tell you that if you've been through hell, you _should_ cry."

Dean recovered in baby steps. Lisa kindly gave him room and time. She learned about Sam; Dean learned the ropes of fatherhood. It was tough. The day-to-day stuff choked him with monotony. Sometimes acting as Ben's surrogate father caused Dean such pain he had to bury his emotions under an automaton mask. Ben often reminded him of Sam.

Dean kept busy. He changed his last name for the sake of a real, full-time job. He did not adopt Ben. Lisa still collected child support from Ben's real father and Dean did not want to jeopardize that for her. The first year drifted into the second. Dean visited his mother's grave on the anniversary of Sam's death and told her all about it. He wept in private, revisiting the emotional wounds. Sam was condemned to an eternity of agony and suffering. Upon recalling that, Dean relapsed. It took another two months before he returned to work.

"It's going to be like this," Justin warned him upon a seventh visit in the same month. "You've been through hell, Dean. You don't recover from something like that. All you can do is remember where you are at the moment. You're going to have flashbacks and old pains."

"My brother is in _Hell_, Justin. He and I were given passage into Heaven long before he dragged the devil into the cage." Dean did not care whether or not Dr. Shrink believed him.

Justin sat quietly for a long, long moment. "If you were promised something, Dean, chances are, that promise was kept. Think on it. When we die, our bodies go into the grave. Our souls leave the body. So... maybe the only thing that's with the devil is Sam's body, but not his soul."

Dean instantly relaxed. The paradigm shift shocked him into such relief that he had to sit back down. He stared at the floor. He could live with that. There was hope, even in Sam's death.

That same hope carried Dean through another three years. He watched Ben grow into puberty. Dean doted on Ben, doing everything in his power to be the type of father for Ben that he never had himself.

The world changed upon The fourth anniversary of Sammy's death. It started with a power shift in the Northern Lights. From beauty and grace, the aurora borealis turned deadly. For each color or shape shift, the ionization turned into negative electrical impulses and shot out as lightning against the atmosphere. Three aircraft caught in altitudes of six thousand feet or more near the Alaskan latitudes collided into the planet with horrific results.

Migratory birds lost their sense of direction. Hail weighing as much as ten pounds obliterated small towns across the globe. And under the oceans, new volcanos heaved and spewed, forming new islands, killing fish and plants for miles around.

Dean no longer watched the news. The world staggered drunkenly through another disaster phase. Why did it have to be in his lifetime? Another apocalypse? Impossible. But something else brimmed over the horizon; a stirring of forces.

"What do you think is going on?" Lisa asked him the night they heard about a small Alaskan town leveled by a freak lightning storm.

Dean shook his head and diverted his attention to his step son. "How was class, Buddy?"

"Good. We get to dissect worms tomorrow!"

Dean grinned and grimaced at the same time. "Awesome."

Ben chomped on his pork steak, his eyes shining on Dean. "Mom," he called.

"Hmm?"

"David's holding a paintball party this weekend. Can I go?"

"What about homework and chores?"

"I can do them Friday. Please? Can I?" he held his hands together prayerfully, his eyes grew large.

Lisa sighed, reluctance breathed out. "All right. But you're not staying past noon on Sunday."

Ben pumped a fist downward. "Yes!" as he took another mouthful of food, Lisa slipped her foot up Dean's leg so that he nearly choked on his drink. Her smile turned devilish.

The phone rang, dragging Dean from seduction. "Hello?"

"Dean?"

Dean scrunched his face with loss of recognition. "Yeah?"

"Been a while."

Dean's head raced before he batted his eyes. "Bobby?"

"Glad you still remember. Been a while."

"Uh, yeah! Long while!" Dean left the kitchen and stepped outside. Chills shot up his spine. "Hey, what's going on?"

"You kidding me? Have you been watching the news?"

"Uh, not if I can help it. Spend most of the time on Cartoon Network-"

"Listen, Dean, I need to ask a huge favor of you."

"No, Bobby. I'm sorry. I don't hunt anymore. I'm done with all that."

"I ain't askin'," Bobby drew a deep breath. "This... this is harder."

Dean's throat constricted. "Okay." The first thing that hit Dean was Bobby might be dying and prepared to ask him to take care of personal matters.

"Do-ah-do you still have Sam's old books?"

Dean lost all color and all his strength left him. "What? What, Bobby?"

"Sam's books. Do, um, do you still have them?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think so."

"Would you mind too much looking up something for me?"

Dean slipped back into the house and searched for a pen and something to write on. He grabbed an empty envelope. "Yeah, sure, Bobby. What book and what did you need?"

"_Eastern Daemons _and _Tryptikon Walking_."

Dean hesitated. The first book sounded vaguely familiar. He jotted down the title, misspelled half of it and drew a deep breath. "Okay. Um, what exactly did you need, or would you like me to just send it..." His voice failed. It was Sam's book. It was one of those things that Sam owned, one of few that Dean had left. But hell, he himself didn't need it.

"Nah," Bobby passed, "I just need a couple of phrases, that's all."

Swallowing heartache, Dean jotted the instructions and said his good-bye. He met Lisa's sweet eyes and pulled a smile over his lips.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah. Its all good. Bobby just needed me to sniff out some info in one of Sam's books, that's all." He watched her nod the okay. Dean refused to let Lisa pay the storage bill for the Impala. But they had gone a few rounds about holding onto a possession he no longer needed. That hurt, but Dean was a big boy and he made it clear that there were certain pieces of his life that were rightfully his and she was not to tell him to get rid of it. After all, Lisa had her family. Dean had the Impala.

Dean waited until the next day to visit his beloved Impala. Lisa and Ben parted for school and work and would not return until late that afternoon. Dean called in sick from work-something he tried not to do too often, now that he found better emotional ground to stand on.

In all honesty, Dean hated the workforce. Two of his coworkers were jackasses. His boss wanted him to use computerized equipment. Dean was a very good mechanic with excellent intuition. Not that he couldn't use the diagnostics mechanism, but nothing worked better than a little investigative work, listening as the car spoke through subtle noises. Besides, his gut instincts saved his customers money.

Dean missed the open road, too. The garage was a cage where the job forced him to smell old oil instead of sweet rain. The job kept him away from the stars, now that he slept nights and worked days. His did not trust his coworkers and all too often, the customers demanded miracles for next to nothing.

The job slowly sucked the life out of him.

Dean undid the combo-lock on the storage. He wondered briefly why he used Ben's birth date instead of Sam's. Lisa frowned on any revelation of Dean's former life to her son. She did not want Ben tainted with the evils of monster hunts or tales of things that lived along the outer edges of sanity. It was hard because it was something Dean wanted to share with Ben. The kid had it in his blood, he really did.

Dean lifted the storage door and reminded himself for the billionth time he retired from hunting. No more chases, mysteries or dangerous fights. No more sleazy motels, crappy, greasy food or fake I.D's.

He and Sam lived on the coldest edge of life. They were destined to die before old age hit. Now it looked like Dean, housebroken and tamed, would spend his life in a chair, in front of the TV. Bored.

Dean skinned the covering off his beloved car and ran his hand over the clean smooth surface. "Oh, baby, I can't tell you how much I've missed you! What's it been? Two years? Three?" He opened the door. It squeaked the most beautiful music. He sat behind the wheel and choked up. "I'm so sorry, Sam," he mourned. "You gave your life and I'm just fading."

Dean rested his head against the steering wheel, taking back the feel of the seat, the smell of leather, metal and five years of laughter, blood, anguish, and sharing life with his brother, his best friend. It was a crazy life. He and Sam got into some real jams. But it didn't matter because Dean had two things that mattered most to him; the Impala and Sam. But what the hell was all the chasing, the hunting and bloodshed for? Why did he and Sam stay on the road, pressing ever forward to the next job? Were they a pair of bloodthirsty idiots trying to prove something? Were they just out there because it's what their father wanted?

Or was hunting all about the journey? No, no. Hunting was about freedom. His job at the repair shop gave Dean something to do and offered a few pathetic perks. Hunting meant Dean and Sam lived life on their own terms. They hustled pool. Sam was good and on a really great night, the two of them cleaned up the town.

Dean unconsciously smiled, recalling one night he and Sam played a small group of hunters in some two-bit town in Wyoming. Sam was unusually cheerful that night. And smooth? One of the hunters didn't even know what hit him until Sammy pulled his triple-strike shot. That play got them two grand. Sam purchased a new computer and gave the rest to Dean to take care of the car and purchase new weapons.

All that was over. Gone. Dean loved Lisa. She was very good to him, especially after Sam's death. But he and she shared nothing in common. Lisa surrounded her life with Ben and her job. She was knee-deep into New Age. And because Ben was such a popular kid, the house sometimes resembled Romper Room. Dean locked his former life in a shell of privacy because even now memories broke his heart. Dr. Shrink was right; Dean would never fully recover from the war, from Sam's death.

With a final deep breath, Dean left the driver's side, closing the door like a death song. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe he should just sell the Impala. All it did was remind him of old wounds.

Dean opened the trunk. He sifted across bags of salt, containers of old herbs and several cans of spray paint. Under that lay Sam's laptop. Dean swallowed hard and pushed himself to keep going.

Under that lay several well-used, but carefully preserved books. Titles such as _Creatures of the Unknown_, _Etruscan Keys_ and three parchment scrolls lay on top of a larger, very heavy book hand-bound by thin sheets of plywood. The rare book, written in the 1400's, was one of Sammy's most precious possessions. As the last of two of its kind, Sam made extra certain that only he and Dean knew of its location.

Dean struggled not to think anymore of the situation. Everything of that nature was part of a past. Sooner or later his memory of those five years would fade, growing cold like a weather-beaten tree, obscured by new growth forest. After all, Sam had been gone almost five years.

The books Bobby requested lay beneath a duffel bag. Dean picked up the first one Bobby needed: _Eastern Daemons. _Three bookmarks protruded at the top of the book. Sam was in the middle of studying, but Dean did not know when. Curious, he flipped the old pages to the first marker. A single sheet of notebook paper snuggled between the pages with Sam's messy but legible print written across it.

"_Water daemons en emprimial: known for destructive forces in lakes and seas. Chained to the underworld as guardians of the Gates. Aaroticus of Ur warned the en emprimial would free themselves at the point of the Apocalypse as a safety mechanism to secure the follow-through of such an event._

Dean unfolded Bobby's 'shopping list'. '_description of the emprimial.'_ He almost laughed. By some miracle, Sam did the work for him already. Dean had no idea what it meant except that the description and the fact that Bobby searched for it, felt ominous. After fulfilling the second request from _Tryptikon Walking_, he tucked the paper away. Dean carefully arranged the trunk the way he found it. If he ever sold the car at all, he'd have to find a place for all the equipment. No. The Impala was all he had left that was truly his own.

The visit to the Impala left Dean unsettled. He all but tuned out his adopted family. He went through the motions, using the same general questions, answering theirs with single-word phrases or shrugs. He ignored the look on Lisa's face. She was not happy that he tormented himself by visiting his memories.

Lisa put Ben to bed and returned to the living room where Dean sat in the easy chair, vegetating in front of the boob tube. "Dean," she started. He knew that tone by now: the voice of business, pleading, underhanded demanding; the marks of a conflict. "You know, it really hurts to see you do this to yourself." she paused. "Did you want to tell me anything? You know I'm willing to listen in."

He slowly shook his head. "Just visited my car. That's all."

"That's never all," she added a slight edge to her voice. He only shrugged. "Dammit, Dean, you're tearing yourself up again and I wish you'd just sell that damn thing and put it behind you-"

He snapped his eyes on her. "Look, you don't get it-"

"Then explain it to me!"

"Sam is gone!"

"Everybody dies at some point, Dean-"

"Not like that, they don't! You weren't there! You didn't see the resignation in his eyes, the-" he choked, unable to breathe. "Nobody just sacrifices themselves to protect a world that knows nothing of what they did!"

"Oh, the sacrifice-thing again." Lisa slapped her knees and stood. "Dean, you've GOT to put this behind you! It's suffocating you."

Dean trembled. His green eyes turned cold with pain. He left the chair, ready to stomp out the door. Dean hesitated and faced her again. "Let me ask you this," he said with a broken voice. "How would you feel if your sister were chosen to house the devil in her body? Forever and ever, the devil would own your sister's body and walk the earth as though he owned it, wearing your sister's face, using your sister's body to contain his power and his inhumanity. How would you feel if your sister was destined-had no choice in the matter? Huh? And at the end of it all, your sister said yes to that sonofabitch and then dragged the devil to hell, trapping herself there-for ALL ETERNITY, Lisa! THAT'S what I have to think about all the time!"

Dean's voice cracked. "And Sam made me promise I'd not try to bail him out. And all I can think about is how he's living under eternal torment day after day. And all I have is a slice of hope that somehow someone saved my baby brother!" Dean wanted to fall apart but did not dare.

Lisa fell dead quiet. "You know, that's all I wanted to know, Dean. I don't understand why it was such a big secret. Even after four years, you still can't seem to trust me enough to learn more about your life. You won't tell me what you've been through. I _want_ to understand."

Dean shook his head. "No. You don't. You've made it clear more than once that you did not want to know all the things me and Sam did. The changeling we killed... Lisa, there's bigger, badder, more terrifying things out there than what we killed here."

Lisa surrendered. The shouting match ended, but Dean, conflicted and aching, refused to go to bed. He sat in front of the TV, paying no attention as his mind whirled. He was done hunting. Done. He found safety here, even if he was not really happy. At least normal was _sane_.

But Lisa was right. The Impala had to go. Dean decided he'd spend the following weekend emptying out his beloved car. He'd ship everything off to Bobby and sell the Impala.

With that decision, Dean drifted to sleep.

"_Dean? Dean. Dean, wake up and talk to me."_

At first he thought the voice came from his mother. Rationally, that was not possible. Lisa? Nope, wrong voice. He lifted tear-dried eyes and found himself in a space with no walls, no ceiling; just white as far and high and wide as his vision reached. Dean sat up and found himself standing. "What is this?" He turned and turned, searching for a door, a window or an object of any kind. "Hello?" he called. No answer. "Must be dreaming." Dean frowned. A trickster, maybe? "I thought the trickster was dead." he answered himself.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean swung to the left and met a gentleman somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. The guy wore a grey sweater. A soft glow radiated from his gold-brown eyes. Chills spread across Dean's chest. It wasn't that the guy felt evil, but that the encounter felt unbelievably real. "Who're you?" Dean asked, considering himself in a dream.

"I am God," the gentleman answered quietly. "Have a seat."

"What? No way!" Dean expected to wake up. He batted his eyes and waited for the real world to call him from slumber. Nothing changed. He snorted. "You are not and cannot be God."

"I am."

Dean narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Oh yeah?" he dared, "How do I know you're not lying?"

The gentleman steeled his gaze straight into Dean's soul. "Because, Dean, I'm the one who invented coffee. Now please, have a seat."

It was the last type of answer Dean expected. He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I guess that qualifies as something." He found a chair waiting behind him and almost sat when another argument slipped from his head to his mouth. "But, I thought God was some old man floating around space on some cloud."

The gentleman looked incredulous. "I was thirty-three when I died, Dean. Now, please, have a seat." A short staring contest ensued. God's calm brown eyes did not waver. He nodded as though reading Dean's mind. "I know you hate me," he said with a leveled voice. "But to be fair, you owe me a hearing."

"What?" Dean recalled the devil's little sob story. Was God going to preach his story, too? "No, no," Dean objected. "I don't owe you _anything_. My life is fucked up because of you, Pal. And for the record, you're an even bigger asshole than the assholes we used to put down."

"I'm not here to argue. I just think it's time to clue you in."

"Pfff. I don't believe this," Dean muttered. "You took a friggin' vacation while me and my brother got our asses handed to us time after time-"

"You weren't alone, Dean. I've been with you all along."

"Bullshit."

"When the truck slammed into the Impala, your father should have died instantly. When the demon walked out of the truck, he had orders to leave no survivors. Sam would have died. Instead, the demon was forced out. The truck driver called for help-"

Dean exploded, "You could have prevented all that from happening!"

God remained calm. "Sit down. Sit. Down." He waited while Dean chose to finally obey. God waited until Dean was calm enough to listen. "Everything that has taken place _had _to take place. It _had _to happen."

"Yeah, right," Dean snarled, "Like Sam's death at Cold Oak."

God nodded, his face solemn. "It was a turning point." He watched Dean turn inward with grief. Everything changed at Cold Oak. Their history, their relationship, Sam's sense of vulnerability. A year later, both boys lost their innocence in the trip through hell.

God allowed Dean to mentally meander a moment later before speaking again. " You know, Dean, one of my favorite quotes from you, was what you told Brad in the alleyway. You said "All those angels, all those demons ... we're the ones you should be afraid of." you could not have been more accurate. I loved the look on Brad's face."

Dean blinked, wondering why he was still dreaming. "What?"

"Through you and Sam, the Angels and Demons learned that power is nothing. They, with all their ideas, machinations and power lust, could not take down two little Humans. The Four Horsemen will be licking their wounds for hundreds of years."

Dean blinked slowly. "'Cept Death. He said he was gonna claim you sooner or later."

God smiled, clearly amused. "Death always had an arrogance problem. If Death were that powerful, you, Sam and Castiel would cease to exist." Dean nodded once in agreement and God continued, "Because of you and Sam, Demons, Angels and their minions learned lessons they'll never forget. It all had to happen, Dean. No one could have taught them better. Zachariah will NEVER forget you. Say your name to his face and he cringes. Lesson learned. Michael learned that no matter how much power or authority he commands, no matter how many Angels may flock to his call, he's still just an Angel who tried to move heaven and earth to get you to say yes. He still failed.'

'The Demons, with all their devices and craftiness, with all their abilities and powers, still could not turn Sam into one of them. And THAT was even with the scales tipped in their favor. I allowed Sam to be tainted, knowing who and what he would grow up to be. He taught them the meaning of honor and love. No matter what they did or what they threw at him. You and Sam, Dean, became their teachers."

Dean scowled, slightly annoyed. "Don't you think it would have been easier to just hand them a textbook?"

God shook his head. "Nothing teaches better than experience. And there's nothing like learning the lesson up front and personal. Between you and me, they all needed a good swift kick. So... I allowed them to come up with all their ideas and follow through with their plans. I allowed them to do whatever they could to break you apart. I allowed them to do everything in their power to prove how superior they were. Because I knew the truth already. I knew you and Sam would meet them head-on. You, Dean, kicked their asses in ways they did not know their asses could be kicked. And for all eternity, Dean, the names of Sam and Dean Winchester will be a name of respect and fear. It had to happen. And you haven't lost Sam. You will never lose Sam. You'll see him again."

"Couldn't you have told me all this a long time ago? Do you have any idea what kind of a wreck I've been?" Dean tried to hold it back, but could not. "I've lost my entire family!"

"No."

The answer, no matter how gentle, struck Dean as absolute and finale. He realized there was only one way to get through the lesson. And although Dean felt a bit used, he realized that God said he'd see Sam again. Maybe Dr. Shrink was right. Maybe Sam was in Heaven after all.

As though reading Dean's thoughts, God smiled again. "By the way, Dean. The version of Heaven you and Sam saw?"

"Yeah?" a frown creased Dean's face. He recalled the unimpressive nature of Heaven.

"That's not Heaven. That was Zachariah. You think I'd go to all the trouble to create the universe, the galaxies, the stars and Earth and all the living things in them just to make Heaven a place where you simply relive your life? Above and beyond anything you can think or imagine, Dean. I have a very special place waiting for you and Sam and it's not your mother's house. Okay? Now, go find Sam. He's in Wisconsin. Oh, I should warn you: Sam is not the same. Lucifer put up quite a fight before Plazius, Gabriel and Aussair pulled him out. His memories are suppressed to protect him. He's not aware of who he is."

Baffled, Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "What? Can't you just... bring him home?"

God tilted his head, his lips lined. "Young man, I am not here to do everything for everyone. A crisis is approaching and I've assigned Castiel to help out. Which means you have some decisions to make." God smiled again. "Now get some sleep."

**Please review and let me know if you'd like to read more story or not.**


	2. Splintered

A/N This is not beta'd. I do not have a beta. Please excuse any inconsistencies you may encounter. Writing this fanfic is a guilty pleasure and was not supposed to go beyond the first chapter/story. Oops. Many apologies to those Deangirls who might find Dean a little out of character *blushes*. I really am trying as hard as I can. I know a few things about post traumatic stress syndrom, so I'll just blame it all on that. I also know that according to the official spoilers, Sam is the one who pulls Dean back into hunting. How, I don't know. When I write, I just follow the muse. And she went this way.

Tams

Splintered

(Edge part 2)

"DEEEAANN?

"Yeah!"

"Phone!"

Dean gladly set his tools down and left the stupid sprinkler system. He didn't dare tell Lisa he broke it in a raging fit. He just told her it needed 'tweeking' and she bought it. Lisa handed him the phone as he stepped onto the front porch. Dean half hoped it was the garage calling him in.

"Yeah." he greeted.

"Dean?" Bobby's gruff voice double-checked.

"Hey, Bobby." Dean half smiled, relieved all around. "Good to hear from you. Did you get the letter?"

"Yup. Now I'm asking-"

"No. Not hunting."

"I need someone to help me do a bit more research in Wisconsin, Dean."

Dean froze. His eyes stared into nothing, recalling a bizarre dream.

"Dean?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Uh, Wisconsin, huh?"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Lisa already retreated to attend the laundry, her son and his homework. "I wanna say yes, Bobby."

"But?"

"But... I have a... job." Dean's eyes dropped. Going with Bobby could not have been a better excuse to eat up a little blacktop highway, even for a few days. Maybe he'd consider a short, subtle search for Sam.

"Okay," Bobby accepted miserably. He really wanted to spend time with the one person he thought of as family. "I know you got yer-"

"Bobby?"

Dean heard the sorrow in Bobby's answer. "Yeah."

"When can you pick me up?"

"What about your job and family?"

"I dunno," Dean's heart lifted for the first time in months and months. "I'll come up with something-alien abduction. Date with Captain Kangaroo."

"Uh-huh." Bobby's heart swelled with excitement. "I'll be there day after tomorrow. I have a few things I need to prepare for."

Dean said his good-bye and hung up, feeling lighter. He had something to look forward to. That meant he'd have to invent a really good story for his job.

"You're doing what and going where?" Lisa stared at him with dark eyes, bewildered and unhappy.

"It's just for a couple of days-"

"You _retired_, Dean-"

"Yeah, I know-"

"That means you're not doing it anymore."

"I know, but I'm not hunting. I'm _tracking_."

"Oh dear God." She turned away, tucking hair behind her ear and shoved dirty dishes into the sink.

"I really need to do this, Lisa." Dean took up a towel and dried the dishes as she rinsed them. He put away a plastic cup and a plate. "Besides, Bobby is the closest thing I have to an original family and I've not seen him in a long, long time."

Lisa sighed, impatient and miserable. "You know, Dean, my brother in-law has always invited you to go fishing and golfing with him and his friends and you keep turning it down. And now that Bobby wants to go to Wisconsin to... what'd you call it? Track? Down this ... case, you're practically out the door." Dean almost said something but she turned, holding up one soapy finger. "_And_, and I wouldn't care, except that it's _hunting_, Dean. And I don't want you to go and get yourself emotionally messed up like you do every year on your brother's anniversary. And I thought you agreed to sell the Impala."

Dean froze, plate in hand, towel wrapped around it. "I can't," he admitted. He stared at the plate, thinking only of Sam.

"For God's sake, Dean, it's been almost five years! When are you going to let it go?"

He couldn't breath. His chest twisted with old pains and tears threatened to cut his voice. Lisa called his name, called his attention, demanded an answer. "I can't," his voice wavered.

Lisa dried her hands and plopped the towel on the sink ledge. She half leaned against the counter, long nails drumming the surface. She frowned, clearly displeased. "'K." was all she said.

"Okay?" Dean echoed, surprised she gave in.

"Yeah. Okay. Go. But when you get back, the Impala goes." He slowly blinked in pain, torn. She walked out the kitchen, her voice trailing back. "I just can't watch you hurt yourself over and over, Dean. I just can't."

Victor, Dean's boss, frowned deeply. He lit another cigarette, not caring whether or not he smoked in his office. He dared his employees to report him to the health department. Dean disliked him immensely but kept the job because Victor didn't ask about Dean's past or proof of his real identity. He completely swallowed Dean's story about being in the protective witness program. The trade off, of course, was putting up with Victor and his oversized ego.

"We're heading into the busy season, Dean," he stated flatly. "And you've already had a few days off."

Dean glued his eyes on the old man's craggy face. It was no secret that Senior Taco, aka Pedro-oh-my-god-i-have-six-names takes every two Saturdays off, constantly asking the other mechanics to cover his butt for one so-called family function or another. Dean was not going to give in. "Okay," he sang easily, poker face on, "I guess I could take off, come back and hand in my resignation."

Victor glared from under his heavy eyebrows. Disgusting smoke trailed from his nose and mouth like a demon fresh from the fire. He rolled his eyes and caved. "You have until Tuesday."

More than enough time.

Dean had no idea what to take with him other than extra clothes, a gun and the demon knife. He stared at the humble duffel bag as it sat there, mouth open, waiting for more. What the hell was he doing? He swore he was done with hunting. He was done and over. Hunting brought only pain and sorrow. Yet here he was, ready to hit the road.

"I'm not hunting," he reminded himself. "We're just sniffing around on a recon. Short and simple." Dean didn't even know what they were looking for.

He sat on the bed and stared into nothing. If he had second thoughts, he could always just ring Bobby and call the whole thing off. He could stay home, not bother looking for Sam, if, in fact, the dream was real. Dean ignored God and yet God came to him-again. So was Dean Winchester, retired hunter, really ready to see his brother face-to-face?

No, not really. Dean knew he was different inside, not quite as brash as he used to be. But did he really want to live _this_ life? Dean rolled his eyes. "What the hell," he moaned. Better to die young, free and on one's own terms than condemned to some wheelchair in a rest home and wait for death to come and claim him.

Besides, if Sam was out there, really out there, he deserved to be found. Dean batted his eyes, confused. Here he pined over Sam's absence over the last few years. Now that he had an opportunity-no matter how remote to have his brother back-he was having second thoughts? Why?

Dean lost hope with the promise he made to Sam. God that hurt more deeply than any knife driven into his body. And if Dean really wanted to see Sam again, he'd have to travel to the darker side of reality. Sam was a part of that reality and if Dean were honest with himself, he was too. Destiny be screwed, but Dean and Sam were meant to be a part of that world. Manicured lawns, Sunday bar-B-ques and PTA meetings simply didn't hold the same _feel_ as a successful hunt and a saved life.

Leaving his musings in the bedroom, Dean inventoried his personals and decided what he brought with him was enough for now. He'd have to wing it the rest of the way-fake ID's or not.

Bobby arrived late that afternoon. It gave Dean enough time to wish his adopted family a good weekend. Ben looked to him with wide bright eyes.

"Kick something for me, man." he offered a fist-bump. Dean gave it to him, glad that while he's in Wisconsin, Ben will be at a friend's home, being a kid. Dean decided Lisa was right. Ben did not need to be tainted with the death and horror in his dark world.

Once they hit the highway, Bobby handed Dean a folder stuffed with news clippings, photocopies and excerpts from books-two of which were from Sam's library. "What is all this, Bobby?" Dean asked.

Bobby glanced down and back to the road, flipping through pages, photos, scribbled notes until he found the paper clipping. He silently pointed to it. "Right there, Dean. That's what I'm following."

Dean lined his lips, skimming over a series of reports about lightning storms, changes in desert areas and three ships reported missing in Lake Michigan. "Okay. Natural phenomena?"

"Not on yer life," Bobby grunted. "Not when half a dozen people swore up and down they saw something, some sort of creature walking on the water."

"No way." Dean shook his head. "What makes you think this has anything to do with a demon?"

"Not a demon, Dean. A daemon."

"Okay."

"They're guardians, gate keepers. In this case, they guard something known as the Water Gates."

Confused, Dean shook his head. "So... you plan to short-term vacation Wisconsin and do what?"

"Gotta get more information on what's going on. I know a guy who said there's a gal who teaches ancient mythology at Green Bay University. Said she's pretty sharp."

Dean shrugged. "So, this really is a tracking trip, not a hunt."

Bobby gave him a double glance. "Well, don't get overly excited, Boy. An' don't worry, I'll protect you."

The picturesque drive from Indiana to Wisconsin failed to lift Dean's uncertainty and depression. Was he really making the right choices here? He told no one of his strange dream several nights before. Dean did not know what to make of it, so why spread the false hope? It seemed incredibly coincidental that Bobby headed for Wisconsin and asked to take Dean along.

"Hey, Dean?" Bobby said, turning down the radio for the first time in two hundred miles.

"Yeah." Dean did not catch the grizzly man's eyes.

"I gotta tell you somethin' strange."

Dean scrunched his face and glanced at Bobby. Why did 'strange' equal 'confession'? "Kay. Hit me."

"I-uh, had a dream few nights ago."

Now he had Dean's attention. Chills tingled Dean's skin. "About Sam?"

Bobby's line of sight ping-ponged between Dean and the highway. "What? You too?"

"Well, not Sam per se. More like a telephone call from God." Dean could not bring himself to outline the whole dream; something both real and personal. Bobby grunted with acceptance.

"Well, I didn't get the Channel of the Divine. What I saw was a battle and creatures a' all sorts running like nobody's business. It was short-"

"You said the dream was about Sam."

"Yeah, that's what was weird. I didn't _see_ Sam. I just sorta knew Sam was there. I dunno, kid. Crazy things happen during the grieving process."

Dean nodded silently. Four years, five months, twelve days. Sam left an ache in his life that neither words, activities nor alcohol successfully filled. Dean's eyes burned and watered with fresh tears. He sent his gaze out the window, ignoring the impressive, imposing stature of windmills lining Interstate 39. His inner turmoil darkened his sight, turning his vision inward to the crater in his soul. He reminded himself he was only along for the ride; that he was not going to Wisconsin because he had hope. Hope was for citizens with real jobs, real identities and real ignorance.

They stopped at Janesville just long enough to grab something to eat and stretch their legs. The men did not say much as they watched college-aged kids congregate at the burger stand. They rooted on while some dimwit laid worms in his burger and proceeded to eat.

Dean woke with half a brain by the time Bobby pulled into a motel. Without a word, Bobby slipped out the truck and headed straight for the office while Dean mentally wiped his head of webs. He recalled the number of hunts where his father handled all the details. He himself took over details when Sam teamed up...

Dean's heart ached at the thought of his brother. He loved Ben and Lisa but... but Sam was the other half of his soul. Dean clenched his teeth tightly, fighting for emotional control. He'd been to hell and back and while the experience broke him, Sam's death shattered him into fragments. No amount of time or patience would mend his heart. Dean Winchester was half a person living half a life, dangling by a thread constructed of mangled hope and self-deception.

Dean set his fingertips on the window, his gaze searched the universe past the ancient motel, beyond the city lights. "Sam," he whispered. His eyes moistened with tears. He'd take this grief with him to the grave.

Bobby returned and drove the truck round the motel's backside. Wordlessly, he and Dean disembarked, grabbed their bags and entered a stale but clean room. Dean waited to see which bed Bobby chose. The old fart took the bed closest to the door, naturally.

"Dibs on the first shower." Bobby called before closing the restroom door. He had the right; he was the driver. Dean silently nodded his consent and dropped his duffel next to his bed. A chill swept over him and he winced slightly. Was he really that tired?

"Wisconsin," he whispered. "Sam..." he wanted to declare how he was going to find his baby brother, he, Dean Winchester, ye mighty hunter of monsters and the profane, would find his brother just by... yeah. Whatever. Dean sat down, shirked off his coat, removed boots, socks and his wrist watch. He curled up, scrunching the pillows and stared into nothing. Grief choked him again and he trembled. Tears escaped his hold. The wall Dean struggled to keep in place for the last two weeks crumbled and he finally just let the bricks tumble. He shuddered, gasping for air and grasped the pillows. "S-s-s-Sam," he whispered. "Oh, Sam!" his mind raced back to Stull Cemetery. He recalled in slow motion how Sam stood at the edge of the pit and stretched out his arms as Michael-Adam raced to pull him back.

It hurt to think how Sam lived and suffered his whole life, struggling as he did only to die and end up in the worst place in Hell. Dean gasped and shuddered, crying as silently as he could. Why? Why didn't he have the strength to leap in with his baby brother?

The bed softly dipped and Dean flinched, realizing Bobby found him out, found him in a vulnerable, girlie-moment. But Bobby said nothing. He gently rubbed Dean's back in slow, small circles like Dean used to do for Sammy when his brother suffered migraines. Dean did not pull away. All too often, he pushed away physical contact, fearful he'd never regain control or poise. But he was with Bobby; a surrogate father who gave him the moment to grieve. Bound and shackled tears surfaced and bled out of Dean's body and soul.

Bobby watched Dean closely since they left Indiana. The light in Dean's eyes died with Sam. Dean functioned like a robot, going through the motions. Bobby didn't need to be there all four years to know what was going on. He did not say how awful Dean looked. Bobby knew this was going to happen. Dean was dying of a broken heart.

Twenty minutes later, Bobby slowly and quietly left the bedside, satisfied that Dean cried himself to a much-needed sleep. Silently the old hunter prayed a dreamless sleep for his surrogate son and settled for a bit of shut-eye of his own.

Green Bay University looked a lot like many other universities and colleges Dean visited from time to time. Tall buildings, trimmed yard, kids coming and going. At the center of it all stood the great library. Further down, performing arts. Science was always on the other side of the cafeteria and further down, the gym and playing fields. But he and Bobby detoured east, aiming for history and language arts. Dean did not ask why it was necessary to be at the campus at seven-thirty A.M. The school wasn't going anywhere and teachers always lagged behind in their classrooms, arguing with students.

Bobby led the way as though he'd been here before. He opened the door, allowing Dean to enter first then took a furtive glance behind. Dean waited, taking note of Bobby's odd protective mode. They traveled along a short wall and Dean gaped at the size of the classroom, raked up like a movie theater. At the bottom stood a woman in her fifties. She arranged papers and tapped a few keys in her laptop. Grey and silver hair peeked round a main of thick strawberry-blonde hair. Her eyes smiled behind a pair of reading glasses and she greeted Bobby then Dean with a broader smile.

Dean liked her on the spot.

"Hello, there, just in for the pre-test? I don't think we're holding one today."

Bobby lined his lips in a short smile. "We're here to talk to someone named O'Conner?"

"Yes, I'm Abby O'Conner." she kept glancing at Dean.

"Erm, I'm Robert Hancock. I phoned you last week about a book I'm working on." Bobby held out a hand for a shake. She took it, offering a more delicate and easy salutation.

"I remember that," she declared. "Something about the Water Gates."

Bobby nodded and from the folder, he handed her a printout of three sigils. "Well, I was wondering what you can tell me about these."

Again Abby glanced at Dean before taking the paper. Her eyes focused on one symbol at a time. "Huh. I believe this one is Chaldean. The other two I don't recognize." She studied the printout a moment longer then her eyes slowly focused on Bobby. "You said you were doing research on the Water Gates?"

"Yeah."

She set the paper down and leaned against the desk, palms flat on its surface. Dean watched as tension gathered about the teacher's shoulders. She slowly shook her head. "I don't want to jump to any conclusions. Maybe I should have Mason look at it. He's so much better at the language of magic arts than I am. Um, Mason isn't exactly a morning person. Maybe you fellas would care to return about three o'clock this afternoon? He'll be here at that point."

Bobby and Dean did a reality check with a glance and Bobby nodded their agreement.

The men swung by a Mickey-D's for a quick breakfast. Dean said little to nothing. Bobby watched him like a cat. They finished their meal in just as much silence as when they started. Dean immediately cleared the restaurant and waited for Bobby to catch up. His mentor unlocked the truck and they climbed in, harnessed up and took off. Inside an hour, Dean and Bobby landed in the small town of Oconto and from there, Bobby turned onto a back road heading into Oconto State Game Refuge. Puzzled, Dean leafed through Bobby's folder again.

"I want you t' take a look at this site yerself, Dean." Bobby answered Dean's unspoken question.

"Okay." Dean replied. "Some burial ground?"

"Nope."

Bobby pulled onto another dirt road and traveled an additional three miles. At the end of the line, he parked the truck on ancient, sand-strewn blacktop and turned to Dean.

"I don't know what we got here. I talked to a few really knowledgeable hunters an nobody can make heads 'r tails. Like I said, we didn't come here t' hunt. I want you to look at this an tell me what you think."

Dean did not meet his eyes but he nodded, carefully tucking his mood into a corner. He followed Bobby's lead, grabbing a shotgun and taking a pair of binoculars when handed to him. Bobby picked out a camera, a small bag of salt and a UV flashlight. Dean puzzled over the flashlight but said nothing and trailed behind his mentor.

They treaded a zig-zag road carved by motorcycles and bicyclists. They stepped over make-shift bridges and rounded large boulders. Both men stumbled into marsh water more than once and paused to watch an elk at a distance. Finally Bobby led Dean to drier land and over the crest of a small hill. The other side revealed a crater with a thirty-foot circumference and edges punctuated by roughly-hewn monoliths.

Dean shuddered with awe and a tinge of dread. The monoliths proudly displayed dark carvings with symbols he'd not seen anywhere before. Standing dead-ass center rose a totem pole hewn of obsidian and bloodstones. More than just the totem pole, there were humanoid statues hewn of rough pyrite. Their bodies lay half on the ground, propped by one hand while the other hand stretched outward as though begging or reaching for the totem.

Bobby photographed everything and approached a monolith, photographing and studying the carvings. Dean squatted and simply examined the place in silent awe and horror. He'd seen this same thing several years ago. Another chill swept over him. Bobby returned and tucked the camera away.

"So what d'you make of this, Dean?"

"It's horrible," Dean immediately answered. "I-I never thought I'd see it here."

Bobby's eyes snapped to him. "You seen this before?"

"Not here." Dean shook his head, his breath came hard and he bowed over. Bobby grabbed him and helped him sit.

"Dean?"

Dean wiped his face and held the back of his neck. Old pains and evil memories washed through him, freezing his blood. Dean swallowed hard. His empty eyes scanned the marshland. "I've seen it before, Bobby," he reiterated. "'Cept it wasn't here... on Earth. It was in Hell."

Bobby lost all expression as his jaw dropped. He felt Dean's tension turn cold as his eyes stared into nothing. Cautiously he laid a hand on his 'son's shoulder.

Dean's mouth ran dry, his skin turned cold. "I have no idea what it's for, but the figures in Hell were alive and-uh-and constantly talking to the totem. Chanting, I guess." weariness swept over Dean. Memory of shock and trauma led to more emotional trauma. He wanted to lie down and sleep. His immediate thoughts went to Sam, but Dean felt nothing as exhaustion coursed along his nerves. Bobby stood and vaguely, Dean realized his surrogate father helped him to his feet and half-led, half-dragged Dean across the landscape.

"Dean? Dean, I'm sorry. If I had known ..." Bobby's voice trailed in and out of Dean's mind until Dean realized they were in a marsh. There was the sun. the world stood about him clothed in green and blue. An egret stalked among the tall grasses. He was safe and whole and standing before someone who cared about him.

Dean laid a hand on Bobby's shoulder, just to be sure. A few years ago Dean might have dismissed it all, tucked all his memories of evil and beyond-description-horror into a box in his soul and moved on. But he was worn out, raw with grief and sorrow. In short, Sam's death ... Sam. Dean couldn't breathe again. It used to be he'd resort to anger to shove all the pain out of his veins.

Bobby helped him into the truck and they returned to the road. Just as Bobby turned onto the highway, Dean fell asleep.

Dean slept the entire hour and a half it took Bobby to return to the university. They paused at the cafeteria for coffee and toured back to the language arts/history department.

O'Conner's class just emptied as Bobby and Dean arrived. She greeted them with a weary smile as she straightened a pile of reports and tucked them into a folder. "You're right on time!" she praised. "Mason will be here in a moment." Her eyes contacted Dean. "Are you alright? Maybe you should sit down a moment."

"Oh, no. I'm fine" Dean successfully pulled on a mask. "Just a long trip, is all."

She met his weak smile with one of her own as the office door opened. "Hello, Mason," she greeted without looking at him. Abby turned with an even wider smile. "Mason, this is Robert and Dean. They're the ones I told you about last night."

Bobby stared in shock. His hands melted with cold sweat. But Dean, already suffering emotional shock and overwhelming grief, passed out cold.

Cliffhanger! I are EVIL!


	3. Threshold

A/N: guh, my stories ALWAYS end up way longer than I anticipate! Thank you for reading and reviewing :D

Threshold

Cushions comforted his heavy body. Dean roused slow as though waking caused him pain. His head ached unmercifully. A cold slab of material lay over his forehead and eyes. Dean's initial response was to pull it away. But his languid body refused to give him the manly dignity he so highly prized.

A garbled voice crossed his head. "_He opened his eyes."_

A reply sounded unclear and distant. Dean wanted to sleep. He drifted, visualizing Sam, arms outstretched as he stood before the Cage opening again. "_It's fanfare, Sammy. No one will believe you."_

"_There is nothing I can do or say that will make this right." Sam answered, "I did this. I hurt you. I will pay for it with my life."_

And he left Dean. Again. Again. A rush of air flooded Dean's lungs as he choked with anguish. _God, save me! My soul is dead!_ Music became words without melody. Food became substance without taste. Water became fluid without beauty. The Impala lost her heart.

And Sam was in Hell.

Sam was in Hell.

Dean's body convulsed with grief. His meager strength allowed him to turn on the cushions. Dean buried his face. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Almost five years. He should be over Sam's absence.

Muffled Voices bounced in his head as his consciousness slowly rose to the surface.

"_Will he be alright?"_

"_It takes him a while, but yeah. I think he'll be okay."_

"_He'S been traumatized recently, hasn't he?"_

No answer.

"_Is he suffering from post traumatic stress?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Has he had professional help?"_

"_I don't know. An' I don't know if anything can_ _help."_

A gentle warm hand rubbed his back and shoulders. That was not Bobby's heavy, calloused touch. The hand expertly soothed him; very much like Castiel's touch.

Dean fell back to the bliss of sleep.

His body returned to life later. A single lamp illuminated the room, revealing a quiet office decor with a wooden desk, three filing cabinets and a gigantic shelf stuffed with nick knacks and books. A closed pantry stood next to the only door in the room. Abby O'Connor sat behind her desk, eyes glued to her computer monitor. Etude for TOD from Throne of Drones played in the background, the violin sang solemn like the slow burning of a corpse or the mournful dance of the bereaved. Not that Dean knew the title of the song, but it washed his frayed nerves with a dark lullaby; a sad piece of music for a broken soul.

"Hello, Dean, hon. How are you feeling?"

Dean sat up, ran his hand through his hair and plastered his face solid; unreadable. Deep breath. He shot his eyes across the room, assessing exits, entrances, possible weapons and hiding places. "Better, I guess. The asshole with the sledge hammer isn't cracking my skull open. Where's Bob-er-Robert?"

"I offered you two to stay the night at my place. He went along with Mason when I insisted he not disturb you." Abby shut her computer off, rounded her desk and leaned in front of it; very teacher-like. She crossed her arms, eyes cast on the ground a moment before speaking. "Dean, _Bobby _told me about your brother."

Dean could not conceal his dissatisfaction. His pain was his own. He reigned it in and lightened his expression as he stood on shaking legs. "Sammy's uh-"

"Gone," she finished.

"Yeah." his eyes found something else to face.

"Well, Dean, uh... what was the last thing you remember before you passed out?"

He shrugged. "Bit of a rough day. Lot of traveling. Half expected to visit the Little White Rabbit. Do you know if he lives in this area?" "Mason came into the classroom and you passed out."

Dean glued his eyes onto her, a little surprised at her direct approach. She didn't seem the type. "Uh..." his mind went New York Black Out.

Abby sat on the couch and patted the space beside her. Dean did not argue, again surprised at his lack of resistance. She kept her hands in her lap and studied his eyes a moment. "Dean, Bobby told me Mason looks exactly like your Sam. I think that's why you went into shock. I would have called an ambulance, but your friend insisted we just give you time. So, he left you here with me so I can tell you what you need to know."

She gave Dean a moment to let it all sink in. Okay, Dean rationalized, so there was someone else walking about with Sam's face on. Creepy, but not unheard of. Lots of people have look-alikes. Dean nodded. "Okay, Sam might have a doppleganger 'r something. Dean nodded to indicate he was ready for whatever else she might have to add.

"Mason is not my son," she stated bluntly. "There was a horrible car accident about two years ago; a five-car pile on. Three cars were burned beyond recognition. Six people died. Police found a gentleman walking along the highway, in the middle of the road. No ID, nothing to indicate where he had been and no memory." Abby paused. "Would you like some coffee?"

Dean slowly blinked. "That would great."

Abby left the couch and opened the pantry near the door. She filled the decanter with water and from a shelf, plucked out a bag of gourmet coffee.

"My husband and brother in-law both work for the police department. My husband is an old softy to begin with but when our sons passed away..." she paused, her eyes grew distant with the memory of sorrow. Abby took in air and batted her eyes. "Our sons died in combat about three years ago. So whenever someone needs help, Mike is always there, more than willing to bring them home. I really wasn't ready to help anyone else."

She poured the coffee and returned to the couch, handing a cup to Dean. She took a small sip and continued. "He was in horrible shape. Mason, I mean. Nightmares, hallucinations-extreme pryophobia. Mike and I thought about sending him to an institution. But we hung in there, hoping for the best, hoping to give Mason time. We took him to a doctor who prescribed medication and that has been tremendous help. It's just that, not knowing who you are or where you're from... you know a huge chunk of a person's identity is their history. So we became surrogate parents. Mason is fairly functional. I doubt he'll ever hold a job as a tax preparer or a Walmart checkout clerk, but he's very smart and skilled and sometimes, Dean, a little scary."

"How?

"Well... Mason's been through something so... I don't think there are words for it. I'm not sure if he recalls all of it, if _any _of it. But the mental and emotional scars are there and sometimes they bleed. And we keep reassuring him." Abby stood and set her cup on the pantry. "I'm not sure how he'd handle the idea of being someone's long lost brother, Dean. I really don't. I strongly suggest you get to know Mason before you say anything to him about being your brother, if, in fact, he is."

Dean's heart beat hard with anxiety. He nodded, already working on various greeting scenarios and what he'd say. "Uh, Abby, you said that Mason knew about stuff like the symbols Bobby brought in. Has he looked at them yet?"

She smiled lightly. "You sort of put a crimp in that plan when you blacked out, Dean. But it'd be better to discuss things like that at the house anyway. Mason's room is in the basement and all his books are down there. Sooo... would you like to join us for dinner?"

Dean searched for a clock and frowned at the late hour. "You eat dinner at ten P.M.?"

Mike's job has us floating on all hours of the day or night. We've never lived a nine-to-five life.

Dean had no problem with that. His former life was mostly night-owl, anyway.

Bobby sat at the kitchen table accompanied by a pile of old, small books and a cup of coffee. Dean took the seat across and gave the room a full scan. The kitchen offered enough room for three people to work and move around. The table seated four. A large picture window viewed a small yard.

Dean shuddered with chills and butterflies. He wasn't so sure about meeting this 'Mason'. He half hoped the guy was nothing like Sam. Yet he hoped-against all the laws of God and nature-that he might have his little brother back. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed back the tears. Drawing air, he tugged a smile on his lips. "Whatchya doin' there, Bobby?"

"And where is Mason?" Abby added as she set her brief case on the floor.

"Oh," Bobby turned to her first. "Mason said he needed a short nap. And he loaned me this set of old ghost stories from an underground publisher in France."

Abby's face brightened. "Oh, good!" she approved. "Any time he sleeps is a good sign. How long has he been out?"

"Uhh. I dunno. Half hour, maybe?"

She nodded. "Are you two hungry? Hope you like turkey. Mike eats it all the time." Abby shuffled about the kitchen. She started more coffee and brought out sandwich material. Dean stared at Bobby's books but did not read the titles. Anxiety twisted his insides.

Something scuffed the floor round the corner. Bobby and Dean looked up, their ears itched for other sounds until a voice, familiar and excited, sounded from another part of the house.

"Roxi! Arrrgg! I'm being attacked by a walking carpet!"

Bobby gave Abby a puzzled look. "You have a dog?"

She held up two fingers. "Mason's dogs. A border collie mix-that's Roxi. And a rotweiler-shepherd mix. That's Marco. They're very, very helpful. Believe me. Well, hello!" she greeted her surrogate son. "Hungry?"

"Yes!"

"Mason, we have guests."

"And coffee!"

Dean stood. His arms and back broke out in a sweat. He tried to even his breath even as Bobby cleared his throat and quietly warned him to take it easy. Mason turned from the coffee pot and met Dean's eyes.

Hazel.

Dean almost did not notice the offered cup and took it with an uneasy smile. "Thanks," he managed. His heart stopped when 'Mason' smiled. His face, although leaner with some signs of scarring, still dipped with dimples. The smile was honest and while simple, Dean read the lines of torment underneath. Mason sat at the end between Bobby and Dean and relished his coffee.

"You're still on that first book, Bobby? Geeze, I could have read through a dictionary by now. And are you going to introduce me to your friend here or do I have to embarrass myself on your behalf?"

Bobby snapped the book shut. "Now listen here, young man-" He cut himself off, suddenly realizing he treated Mason like Sam. He stared, flustered and embarrassed.

Dean turned for a handshake. "Dean Winchester," he offered.

"Mason. No last name." The firm shake and a tight grip meant Mason was not someone to cross. They held each other's eyes until Mason let go and nursed his coffee.

Roxi yelped for attention, breaking the moment. Abby brought down three plates of sandwiches before sitting down to her own. "Hush, Roxi," She gently scolded. "They're not here to take your toy from you."

A half moment's awkward silence befell the table before Dean perked up. "You know, we really appreciate you guys taking us in beyond Cinderella's bedtime." he smiled when Abby brushed it off and delved into her sandwich.

Mason tore a chunk off his own and tilted his head toward Bobby. "Your friend told me you two were snooping around some ruins north of here."

Dean filled his lungs with air, bracing his self control. "Yeah! Um, up at the Swamp Thing's back door."

"You know, you're not the only ones who have passed through here looking for the same answers."

Abby coughed once and warned Mason with her eyes.

Bobby and Dean stared at Mason as he took another bite. Abby watched them watch her charge before sipping coffee. "The university history department is often visited by scholars from other regions in the country. The last time someone came, they showed us a symbol similar to what you have. Except that it was only the first one, not the bottom two. Presumably, of course, from an old textbook."

Dean turned to Sam-_Mason_. "Have you been there? At the ruins, I mean?"

Mason shook his head. "I sleep through most of the day and I won't go alone to places like that at night. I've heard of people who have been stupid enough to visit it, however."

"Oh yeah?" Dean urged. "What happened?"

"Fifty-fifty-one." Mason answered frankly. He finished his sandwich as Dean and Bobby exchanged a look. Fifty-fifty-one was the police code for dealing with the mentally ill/insane.

Mason sipped his coffee, set it back down and stared at it a long moment. Roxi whined and wormed herself between Mason and Dean. She sent the saddest eyes to Dean and whined again.

Abby smiled without looking up. "Seems Roxi is taken with you, Dean. She usually doesn't warm up to strangers that fast."

"Good vibes, I guess," Dean answered. He read sudden concern on Abby's face.

Abby half stood from her seat, "Mason?" she called, Her hand reached across the table. Mason's face fell blank, eyes drifted into nothing. The fingers of his right hand twitched and Abby rushed from the table and returned with a tablet and pen. She placed them in his hand while Roxi whined imploringly. Her pleading eyes switched between Mason and Dean.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked for both he and Bobby.

"He goes through this," Abby quickly replied. "Mason, just write it down, hon. Don't worry about what it looks like. Just put it on paper. Write it out."

Without moving his eyes or expression, Mason scribbled his name several times down the tablet. He returned to the top and scrawled a long mathematical formula, writing until he reached the half way point and started over. The third time he restarted the formula, Mason scribbled his name after each sequence in the formula. He started crying as he wrote his name over and over until Dean laid a hand on his wrist.

"It's okay," Dean said in a soothing voice. He took his napkin and blotted tears off Mason's (Sam's) face. "It's okay."

Bobby looked to Abby who pressed her lips hard, hands at the edge of the table.

Mason trembled as Roxi laid her head on his lap. "I am not okay," he said with a small voice. "I am not okay. I am not okay."

"No," Abby answered in turn. "You are not okay. But you are _safe_."

Mason took a deep breath and relaxed. Awareness returned to his eyes and he gazed upon the tablet. Dean thought he looked so lost.

Bobby peeled his befuddled stare from Mason to Abby. "Did he just have a seizure?"

"It's not epilepsy. He has traumatic stress syndrom. This is not a typical symptom. The doctors don't know what it is. Mason, hon, would you like some coffee?"

Mason mutely nodded then looked to Dean and lipped a thank-you. Dean managed a smile and nodded. Roxi sneezed and left Mason's side. She scratched the front door and Mason slowly rose to his feet to let her out. He stared into the night, taking in cooler, Wisconsin air. Dean gazed at the tablet. He recognized nothing but suspected the so-called formula was written in different languages. One symbol he recognized as Enochian. Mason returned to the kitchen where Abby met him at the archway with a cup of fresh coffee in her hands. She spoke to him quietly. Dean watched their interaction. Mason looked tired but receptive to what she had to say. He sipped his coffee and nodded... oh so much like Sammy when he agreed to something mutually beneficial.

Dean's heart ached. Did he have a right to tell Mason that he was possibly Sam Winchester, formerly the devil's vessel? Did he have a right to tell Mason that his life was one of naught but tragedy and grief? Dean's only answer was how he felt; he wanted his brother back.

Mason returned to the table and drained his coffee. "Uh, if you guys are up to it, we could go down into my laboratory and take a look at your symbols." he set the cup down and his eyes drifted from Bobby to Dean.

"Sure! If you're up to it." Dean replied eagerly. He left the table and paused. "Wait. You said laboratory?"

Abby gently slapped his shoulder. "Don't worry. He's being facetious. There are neither monsters nor mad cross-genetic experiments down there." but both Bobby and Dean caught the cross-glance between Abby and Mason.

Mason led them toward the back of the house and down a set of carpeted stairs. Dean followed Mason with Bobby tagging last. Shelves cluttered with jars or overstuffed with books lined the basement walls. Two desks supported a computer each. Mason took the paper on which he scribbled his name and the formula and tacked it to a cork board whereupon layers of the same thing hung. Three 9x12 envelopes dangled at the bottom of the board, each encoded with dates and a place; HOME, the second one: CAMPUS and the final: MISC.

Mason turned to Bobby and Dean with expectant eyes. "Well, did you bring it with you?"

Bobby smacked his hand against his forehead. "No. It's upstairs. I'll go get it."

Dean watched Bobby retreat, leaving him alone with 'Mason'. He felt the stranger stare at him then diverted attention as a rotweiler-mix descended into the basement. Mason said nothing, petted the dog and stared into nothing. Dean, on the other hand, took his turn to examine the Sam look-and-act-alike. Conflicted, he bore his eyes into Mason's back. Dean flinched when Mason suddenly turned to him, nailing him with stormy hazel eyes.

"Something must be bothering you, Dean," he said softly. "I can feel your tension, your anguish.

Taken back, Dean used annoyance to mask his uncertainty. "What? You psychic or something?"

The faintest of smiles touched Mason's lips. His eyes remained steady, unnerving Dean even further. Flashes of Sam's 'devil face' sent chills down Dean's back as he recalled his little trip into Zachariah's version of the future.

Bobby's heavy footsteps clambered down the steps. He handed the papers to Mason and gave Dean more than one glace. "You alright?" he asked as he passed Dean.

Dean said nothing. He tightened neutrality over his face while Mason pondered over the photocopies. The Sam-clone paced along his wall until he reached a panel and with the tug of a lever, pulled the whole wall aside revealing a long, well-used chalk board. Various seals of the ancient world hung from the top while copies of old and eclectic alphabets lined the sides and middle. Bobby stepped closer, inspecting each copy and gave Dean the _will-you-believe-this-shit_ look.

Mason picked up a piece of chalk and scrawled along the top in the same language as the first symbol. "Definitely Chaldean," he confirmed. "Did you have this translated, um, Bobby?"

Dean's stomach turned cold while Bobby sighed sadly. "The only two people I knew who could translate it 'r um, dead."

Dean turned away when Mason's eyes hit him again. Mason, who paused at Bobby's answer, resumed writing. He wrote fast, expertly as though he used the language all his life. After breaking the chalk three times, Mason finished and stepped back. Bobby scrutinized the language. He frowned in failure.

Mason stepped back to the board and adjusted three letters, crossed out two and added accents to a word. "Okay, this reads as a warning. This was a seal, as you suggested. Uh..." Mason rechecked his work, his mannerisms and movements so much Sam, it hurt Dean to watch him. "Closed and locked until the Call of Times." Mason readjusted another word. "When the world is at war and Heaven burns."

"What's it mean 'Call of Times'?" Bobby glanced from Mason to the board and back.

"Prophesy," Mason about sang it. "A certain Chaldean cult believed the end of the world took place when two brothers warred across the cosmos-or rather, that's the rough translation. The seal was meant to break at the point of battle so that the end of the world could not be reversed."

Dean scoffed. "How can you reverse the end of the world? That's like trying to lasso a comet with dental floss."

"War is comprised of decisions. I suppose anything is possible."

Bobby was not in the mood for a philosophical debate. "What about the other two?"

Mason nodded deeply and hacked out the second symbol but not nearly as quickly. He paused several times to double check. Uh... this is... Greek ..." Mason winced and frowned. He adjusted the letters several times and checked the alphabet charts repeatedly. "This is... Sumarian." He divided the languages and diagramed lines, adding Enochian letters to the mix. Bobby and Dean watched in amazement as Mason re-translated from one language to another. "This is... impossible."

"What?" Bobby insisted. "Talk to me, kid."

Mason shook his head and erased a section of the board. "Etchemin. But it can't be."

"Etchemin?" Dean echoed.

Bobby leaned toward Dean to explain. "It's an ancient North American Indian language. But uh, I'd like to know how Sa-uh, Mason knows about it."

Mason smiled, amused. "_Mason_ knows the area," he answered. "This is a language that hasn't existed since the 1700's. This symbol dates as far back as the Dark Ages. And see how it's using these other languages? I mean the Sumarian and the Enochian. This was a seal of permission. Usually it's carved from bone or semi-precious stone and taken from place to place as a stamp of approval usually to prepare for war."

Bobby's whole face scrunched with confusion. "Where'd you hear about that? I don't recall anything like that in history."

"It's ancient Chaldean history, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head in disbelief and disagreement. He never heard of such a thing. Mason returned to the board, erasing the material he jotted down at the start and worked on the last one.

Two hours passed. Dean drifted to sleep while Bobby settled with a rare, hand-drafted book he found in Mason's library. Finally Mason moaned and handed the photocopy to Bobby.

Dean roused from snoozing and caught Mason's eyes again. He almost forgot not to use Sam's name. "What have you found?"

"It's incomplete." Mason frowned, defeated.

Dean yawned. "Well, maybe a bit of shut-eye will give you an extra punch later."

"No, Dean. I mean the symbol is incomplete. Someone left off part of the phraseology. It's like someone intentionally left out part of the spell."

"It's part of a spell?" Bobby hadn't thought of the symbols in that regard.

"I'm pretty sure of it," Mason replied. "I'm even more certain that the rest of the third symbolism is someplace else and separated on purpose." Mason wrapped his arms about himself. "I'm sorry. I need to rest."

Bobby decided he did not want to stay at Abby's house. He prepared to head back to their motel but Dean reluctantly delayed. He kept sending his gaze to Mason. Abby emerged from the back porch hauling a basket of clean clothes. She dropped it on the livingroom floor and smiled first at Mason then at Dean. She read Dean's face and glanced again at Mason. "Are you boys retiring for the evening? I know it's only three."

Dean found that amusing. "Mason's batteries are low. Bobby's tired of putting up with me."

Abby caught Mason glancing at Dean before quietly departing for his room upstairs. She turned to Bobby and Dean and kept her voice low. "Dean, would you care to stay the night here? You can crash on the couch or you can sleep in the spare room. Mike's not here and it'd make me feel better. The couch is not all that uncomfortable. Unless, of course, you'd rather stay at the motel."

Dean gazed at the stairway as though expecting to see Mason standing there. He shrugged. "Yeah. Okay. If that's okay with you." he looked to Bobby who shrugged.

"Fine by me. Whatever you feel works for you."

Dean loved how Abby winked at him. Bobby said his good night and departed. Dean sat on the couch and just as his head about hit the cushion, Abby left and returned with two pillows and a blanket in her arms. Dean shed his jacket and flannel and grinned when Abby laid the blanket over him when he lay down. "Now, young man, get some sleep. Breakfast when you get up-"

"Don't you have class tomorrow?"

"Night class."

"Oh."

"Sh!" Abby cut the lights and ghosted up the stairs. Dean heard her talking quietly to Mason who bickered lightly. Her voice returned, gentle but firm. Dean passed out after that.

"_Mason? Mason! Dean?_"

Dean roused, aching and weary. He opened his eyes as Abby floated in wearing a nightgown and robe. He pushed himself up, slightly disoriented.

"Dean!" she panicked. "He's gone again!"

"What?"

"Mason! He's sleepwalking again. I knew this was going to happen. Please help me find him!"


	4. Dissociation

A/N I'm sorry for taking a bit longer than last time. I want to make sure my continuity and characterizations are accurate. If you find a booboo, please let me know. I'm not sure how far I'll take this story; I am notorious for long stories (see my Transformers fanfic where just one chapter is longer than most people's entire stories.) Serious Thank yous go to everyone who's taken time to read and comment on my work! :D

DISSOCIATION

Dean sprang to life, grabbed his jacket and instantly called Bobby. Only the voice mail replied. "Abby says Mason's missing. I'm going to help her find him." He snapped the phone shut and followed her out the front door.

"Marco!" she called. "Marco!"

The shepherd-rottweiler mix bounded out of nowhere, shaking its tailless rear and panting with excitement. Abby gave the dog a sock to sniff. "Go find Mason! Find Mason!"

Abby and Dean watched as 'Marco' sniffed across the yard, rounding trees, bushes and the fence. Dean wondered what was taking Bobby so long to answer his message. "Does uh, does Mason sleepwalk a lot?"

"Not as much as he used to," Abby pulled her own phone from her pocket. "Hello? Mike, I can't come get you-no, Mason's missing again. I got the dog on it, yes. Can't it-Hold on. Dean?"

He met her worried expression, staying cool.

"Just a minute!" Abby growled into the phone. "Dean, would you mind searching? Mike needs me to get some information for him. It's really important."

Dean shrugged. "Sure. Uh, the dog... won't eat me alive, will it?"

"Marco? Oh, she adores you. Otherwise, she would have peeled your skin off already if she thought you were a threat-YES, MIKE, I'M GETTING IT!" she retreated to the house just as Marco nosed deep into the grass by the fence and leapt over it. Dean scampered to keep up, racing as the four-legged GPS system dashed down the sidewalk, passing several houses, crossed the street and zipped by an apartment complex. Dean spotted Mason as he causally crossed a busy intersection. He stopped midway and turned toward a long bridge.

"Mason!" Dean yelled. He stopped at the moment, drawing deep breaths as two cars swerved to avoid the idiot in the road. Marco waited for a rickety, beat-up old Geo to pass then she leapt into the roadway.

Dean called for her then called Mason again. "Damnit! Don't make me come out there and pick you up like a girl!" Mason remained unresponsive even as Marco licked his hand for attention. Dean waited for a taxi to come and go. It ineffectively honked at Mason. Dean glanced to the right and cringed as a stampede of oncoming traffic inched toward them.

"Mason!" he called again and ran into the intersection himself. "SAM!" He finally yelled.

Mason stopped and bowed his head, his hand went to his eyes as Marco tried to get him to move. Dean pounded the ground, caught up and laid a hand on Mason's shoulder. The traffic roared just a block away.

"Mason," Dean reiterated. "We need to-" he paused and listened to what Mason kept repeating:

"I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay."

"No," Dean answered, using Abby's line. "But you're safe. We found you. Me and Marco. We found you." The first cars came their way and Dean led Marco and Mason to the road divider, shouldering the bridge on their left. He wrapped his arms around Mason as cars and trucks roared past them, honking now and again. Mason wept on Dean's shoulder, repeating "save me, please save me."

"Sh, sh, sh." Dean just held him as the parade of automobiles thinned. Marco sneezed and shook her head. A true blue Kia Sedona rolled up and the driver's window rolled down. Abby put the car in park.

"Oh my god. Is he okay?"

"He's shaking pretty badly," Dean answered. He remained still as Abby slid out the vehicle and led Marco around the back. She returned as two semis rumbled toward them. Abby stripped off her sweater and laid it over Mason's back while the trucks thundered by. "Come on! She yelled above another car's horn. She and Dean aided Mason around the Sedona and into the back seat. Dean hopped in after and helped Mason settle. He reached for the sliding door and caught Abby pocketing an unused hypodermic needle. She slammed the door before he chanced to ask.

Dean turned back to Mason and found him bowed over, shaking. Abby sternly ordered Marco to remain put as she navigated the road and slowly turned left. Dean glanced at the dog whose paws propped her on the edge of the seat, one ear perked with concern.

"Mason?" Dean asked quietly. "Can you-are you hearing me? Mason?" he sighed. "Oh, man, you are a mess. Come here." he gently maneuvered Mason to sit up and lean on his shoulder. Mason trembled and said nothing even as Abby pulled the Sedona into the driveway and parked.

She unlatched her seatbelt as her keys tinkled. "Marco, come on, girl." Abby quietly closed the door and a moment later, slid the side door open. Marco obeyed, disembarking. Abby stood there and waited.

Dean rubbed Mason's back in small soothing circles. "You know, the train has reached its destination. I hear the food here is good. How about you and me go raid the kitchen and make some coffee?"

Mason slowly sat up and searched Dean's eyes. Dean read exhaustion there; inexpressible torment prolonged by countless years. He knew that look far too well. With a deep breath, he tried another tantalizing idea: "Coffee," he repeated. "Abby has that chocolate macadamia stuff and I'm dying to try it." That earned him a light turn of the eyes and a slight nod, acquiescing to the idea.

Mason sat at the kitchen table, trying to rub away an oncoming headache. Roxi took a place at his side while Dean made coffee per Abby's directions and Abby made a light meal.

Mason rested his head against his hand, hiding his eyes and emotions with his fingers. Once he felt he had a tight reign on them he drew a deep breath. "Abby?" his voice still trembled with guilt and regret.

"Not a word of it, Mason," she instantly answered. Abby kept her voice firm but gentle. "I am not discussing that option. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times." She set a plate before him with strawberries and half a bagel. "I am NOT having you committed." she wiped hair from his brow and kissed him. "Eat."

Dean poured coffee for himself and Mason and settled at the table, not really expecting food. Bagels and strawberries didn't exactly sound like a tankful. He pushed the gourmet coffee in front of Mason. "You know, next time you think about traveling, you really should just rent a car."

"They don't allow automobiles where I was going, Dean. Besides, I can't drive." Mason ate a strawberry then sipped his coffee. "Bobby's here."

Just after he said it, the doorbell rang and Abby answered it, greeting Bobby. Dean stared with incredulity.

Mason picked up the bagel and put it back down with a frown. Roxi whined next to him and noisily yawned. "Dean, I owe you an apology," Mason said as Bobby and Abby entered the kitchen, chattering about the morning traffic. Even on a Sunday, Green Bay bustled with activity.

"Apologize for what?" Dean read Mason's expressions, searching for something beyond the overall haunted look.

"I know you were here just to get answers and instead you ended up chasing after my sorry ass." Mason pinched off a piece of bagel and gave it to Roxi. "I'm sorry you had to find out that I'm high maintenance."

Dean raised his brows with a slight nod of agreement. Bobby sat on Dean's left and gave Mason the proverbial once-over. "You doin' alright this morning, Mason?" he asked quietly.

"No," Mason replied without meeting his eyes. "I tried to make the great escape but your friend here reminded me I was not the rabbit from Wonderland and I had to go home."

Dean shrugged then grinned when Abby set a plate of waffles in front of him. "What can I say? It's Mason Season and I was afraid you'd get shot." Dean watched Mason out the corner of his eye and was not fooled by the blank expression; he saw the ghost of a smile, the twitch of the upper lip. Dean took his first bite of waffle and closed his eyes with a low moan.

Mason lightly laughed. "I tell Abby she needs to open her own place."

"Not going to happen," the woman grunted. "And are you finished yet, Mason?"

"No, Ma'am."

A breath of silence passed before Bobby spoke up. "You know, Dean, I need to get hard copies made off my camera."

"Right." Dean took a swig of coffee. "Photos of the peep show you took of Totem and friends."

Mason's hazel eyes caught Bobby's and he swallowed a large piece of bread. "You took photos?"

"Bobby nodded. "I got a camera that shifts between regular light and infrared."

Mason's eyes went wide. "Brave man." he set his empty coffee cup on the plate as Dean and Bobby nailed him with inquisitive eyes. "Don't give me that look," Mason retorted. "I'd rather clean a loaded gun than go out there."

"You never even seen the place," Dean accused.

"Yeah, I have. Not up close and personal. But I have copies of Camila's photos."

"MASON!" Abby hissed.

Mason flushed hard and covered his eyes. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He abandoned them for the basement, Roxi followed at a leisure trot. Dean turned from Mason's exit to his benefactor.

"What's wrong? What did he say?"

Abby and shook her head. "The university has a place where you can get hard copies off your camera, Bobby."

Bobby squirmed. "Well ... there's probably a Copy Center Dean and I can go to. I mean, we're not here to cause trouble."

Abby sighed with resignation and crossed Dean's line of sight. "Do you believe he's your brother?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, forcing breath to undo the knot in his chest. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

She stared at the table, indecision troubled her eyes. "I know you saw the hypodermic when we picked him up, Dean. I'm sure it scared you."

"Hell, yeah. What was that all about?"

"He's been doing really well this weekend. I mean, Mason has his good days and his really, really bad days. He's come a long way but there are days when it's two steps forward and six steps back. Will you be staying the night again?"

Dean shrugged. "Only if you want me to."

She pursed her lips and looked to Bobby. "Let's go to the university and get hard copies off the camera so Mason can compare them to my cousin's work."

Bobby paused before the next bite. Abby's face told him there was no arguing. He nodded in silent agreement and finished his breakfast.

Dean wasn't fooled. He knew Abby took Bobby out of the house for a reason. Now it was just he and Mason (Sam). Dean drew a deep breath, tracked through the house and descended the carpeted stairs. He sat on the second to the last step and wished for a beer. He found Mason at a desk, elbow on the desktop, chin on hand. He stared at the computer's slide show screen saver.

Dean pulled on half a smile. "You know, nine out of ten experts agree that brooding may be hazardous to your health."

Mason shook his head. "All I ever do is fuck up."

Dean feigned shock. "Did you just use the F-word?"

Mason clenched his teeth. Dean saw him fight for self control. "I have this great propensity to find or make trouble no matter where I go. I hear it whenever I dream, I get it from Abby... I even managed to piss Mike off once. They're good people and I just... don't know what I'd do without them. Don't know what to do with myself."

Dean tried to read Mason's body language beyond the self-recrimination and regret. He saw the little Sammy there, a child who tried and tried only to fail. Dean's heart ached. He drew a ragged breath and searched his skull for a new topic. "So! This cousin of Abby's: is she a PI?"

Mason shook his head. He turned round, hands planted firmly on his thighs. "She's a hunter, Dean. And I'm not talking about furry things."

"So... she's all Boba Fett, the next best thing to Dawg without the jail time in Mexico?"

Mason hesitated, eyes focused on the wall. "Not really. More like Dan Akroyd without the proton packs and dancing toaster."

Dean wondered when hunting was going to come into the situation. It seemed far too coincidental. How did Sam manage to land with hunters? "Okay," he accepted. "So why did Abby get all charged up when you said Camila's name?" Mason wanted to answer but shut his mouth and looked miserable. Dean nodded, understanding the answer could land (Sam) into more trouble. "Don't worry about it," he waved off, "Not that big a deal."

Hollow silence passed between them. The border collie nudged Mason's hand and he continued to mindlessly pet her. Dean fixed his stare at the board where Mason kept all his subconscious scribbles. Just when Dean found something to ask, Mason popped a question of his own:

"When you came looking for me, I saw nothing but the road and darkness. And I heard you call me 'Sam'. Was that the name of a friend?"

Dean looked to the floor, hoping not to choke up. His mouth went dry. "More than a friend. He was my little brother."

"Was? You're not brothers anymore?"

Dean met Mason's eyes and found it close to impossible to say anything because he was Sam and wasn't. He chose to be tactful and euphemistic. "Sam was... taken from me a few years ago."

"That must have been awful. Did they find who murdered him?"

Dean pasted his heart-sick gaze upon the board, noticing how Mason subconsciously wrote his name maSoN.

"I'm sorry," Mason frowned. "It's none of my business."

Dean re-read all the signatures: maSoN. maSoN. "How about you?" he asked with a shaky voice. "Abby tells me your head is a blank page beyond two years."

Mason grunted. "That's putting it mildly."

Dean found composure and faced his estranged brother. "So, from the horse's mouth, what's your story?"

Mason shook his head and his eyes took on a distant look. "Not a great deal. Seems I can remember detailed horror in my dreams but when it comes to my life, there's nothing beyond the car crash. I mean..." he sighed, frustrated. "Okay, my very, very first memory was of unbelievable pain and darkness. And after that, a thundering sound shot through my head. I saw light and heard..." he narrowed his eyes, envisioning the scene of the accident. Fire. Black smoke thick like cotton. "I felt people dying, Dean. Some of them screamed as they actually slipped into the ground-Philadelphia Experiment. And then I was walking along the road. I didn't know how I got there, where I was going. I didn't know who I was or if anyone was looking for me. I just walked."

Mason creased his eyes in confusion and helplessness, begging for understanding. "I can't be sure of anything." he mourned. "I had one dream where I stood outside someone's house under a street light. But I can't be sure if it was a dream or if it was an out-of-body experience. I don't recall feeling anything. I was just there and gone."

Mason vigorously petted Roxi while Dean simply watched for new mannerisms. He took comfort in seeing many old, familiar things-the puppy eyes he had not seen in years. Dean ached with reminiscence. Mason (_Sam_) struggled between confidentiality and releasing old pain. He pushed air out his lungs and swallowed tears. "Abby and Mike have been really good to me; more than I deserve. But, I-I don't belong to anyone, Dean. I'm lost... and, obviously, incapable of taking care of myself. I'd like to know who I am. Yet I'm afraid to find out because I suspect the answer is complex."

"Complex. How?"

Regaining his composure, Mason left Roxi at the chair and attended the board burdened with his notes. "Here," he meekly answered. "All this-" Mason cut himself off. He caught a strange mark among the chaos in his scribbled formulas. With a quick glance to Dean, he unpinned the latest page and compared it to the translations he made off Bobby's photocopy. Dean stood and watched as Mason jotted several characters off his paper and drew a line to three symbols he copied from the seals. His eyes widened with recognition and discovery.

"Talk to me, S-Mason," Dean's stare intensified. "What are you seeing?"

Mason rewrote three characters and added extra lines. "No way," he whispered. "This is _closure_. And this:" he picked out another pair of characters and added one line but took out two. "This is _spellcaster_." he stared at the paper in hand a moment then turned to Dean. "Can you help me?"

"Yeah," Dean answered eagerly. "What do you want me to do?"

Mason returned to the collection of scribbles then pointed to a line on the paper he jotted out the day before. "This line here?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to see if there's another one like it."

The two searched through all the pinned papers across the board for fifteen minutes. Dean sneaked looks at Mason's ever serious, concentrating face. Dean realized what God in his dream meant; the choices he'd have to make. Either live the life of normalcy and ignorance with Lisa and Ben or return to the dark world of the supernatural and be with Sam.

He wasn't ready for such a decision yet. Sunday slowly drew to a close and Dean had to make his mind in twenty-four hours.

But did his decision have to be all-or-nothing? Returning his attention to the papers, he found the exact line Mason looked for. "Here, found it," he announced.

"Oh good!" Mason leaned over and read the context, finding the scribbles fairly consistent, right down to his name signed in the same odd way: maSoN. He scrambled to his feet and made three other comparisons.

Dean drew a deep breath, glancing from paper to Mason. "Is there a reason you sign your name like that?"

His eyes, now turned to a grey-green, met Dean's with neutrality. "I don't know. I'm not conscious when I write this stuff. And usually it's all the same stuff except this line."

"Do you know what the line is?"

"Yeah, I think I do. I mean, until you brought me the photocopy, I didn't get it. But... somehow I..."

Marco barked outside. Bark, growl, bark. Mason moaned and smacked his forehead to the chalkboard. Roxi growled, too and wagged her tail. She whined as footsteps clonked the floor upstairs. The front door opened and closed.

Dean heard Abby's voice, Bobby's then another lady's. "Who's up there?"

Mason covered his face with his hand. He slid the chalkboard closed and pinned all the papers to the board as a set of black worker's boots thunked down the steps.

"Hello!" a woman's voice called. "Last time I heard, there was a mad scientist living down here!"

"He's not really here," Mason muttered. "And neither am I."

Dean gawked as a set of lady's muscular legs took the steps with precise attention. "Mason?" her voice commanded attention. "You can't hide forever, you little twit. Oh, hello." White hair in a pageboy cut contrasted a set of stark brown eyes met him with a roughly hewn smile. "You're not Mason."

Mason took his place beside Dean. "This is Dean. He and his friend are staying the weekend with us. Dean, this is Abby's cousin, Camila."

_Dressed to kill_, Dean silently added, _literally_. Hunter. She smiled like a gun ready to go off. "Dean... Winchester?" she said it like a cat. "You actually look better than your wanted posters. Been a while since I've heard the law whine about you. I've heard some interesting things about you among other hunters."

"All good, I hope," he tried.

She dragged her attention from his chest to his eyes. "Not all of it. They say never cross Dean Winchester on a bad day-especially when it comes to his brother. Unless, of course, you don't mind your intestines hang outside your body."

Dean gave an attempted smile. "Not to worry yourself, kitten. I've retired. Doing happily ever after in Indiana."

"Is that so? Well, I guess it's true, then. Take the hunter out of hunting; but all too often you just can't do the reverse. Is it mystery and problem-solving that drags us back to this crappy life, or the ass-kicking that we love so much? Inquiring minds are dying to know. In the meantime, Mason, your weirdo friend from New Mexico asked me to bring this to you." She flashed a disc, tapping the casing. "Hope it's what you're after. Had my tail chased through Nevada by the Network. They're still looking for some demon named Crowly. Seems he knows who or what started the whole mess."

Mason took the disc and offered Dean an apologetic look. He cleared a computer of its screen saver and loaded the software. Camila crossed her arms and watched. She glanced at Dean out the corner of her eye, sizing him up in more than one way.

"Retired, huh?" she repeated.

Dean did not think he liked her. He frowned, refused to answer her and stood closer to Mason. The computer screen flipped windows and brought up a display of several markings on cavern walls and reliefs carved into the stone from a mountainside.

A girl's face appeared. Dirt smeared her countenance, her hair whipped and tangled by the wind. Sunglasses hid her eyes from a hot New Mexican sun. _"Mason, if Camila doesn't get this to you, you have my permission to spike her next drink. Okay, so we have confirmation here in New Mexy. Splicer says there's another in the Shasta Caverns there in California and you'll love this one:"_

Pictures of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri flipped up. At night, the camera followed two hunters who snuck their way past security. One carried a black light, the other switched the camera to night vision. They shed the light on the man-made arch and the very same symbols as seen in New Mexico glowed.

Mason paused the display and slumped back in the seat. He stared as Bobby descended the stairs.

"We got those photos, here," the older hunter quietly declared. He crossed looks with Dean and handed Mason the hard copies.

Mason swallowed hard and winced at each photo taken, especially those that Bobby took under influence of the infrared light. Peering at the pictures over Mason's shoulder, Dean creased his brow. He did not recall Bobby taking all those photos. Was he really that much out of it?

"There it is," Mason declared. He pointed to a specific character. "Looks like you've been right all along, Camila." his eyes caught hers. "The Water Gates are open and there's more than three."

"Have you figured out about the father-son thing yet?"

"No."

She sighed, exasperated. "We're running out of time, Mason. There's already been signs."

"Well, I am sorry, Camila," Mason snapped, "sometimes the genius has to take a break!"

Bobby's eyes jumped from Mason to Camila. "What signs?"

She ignored him. "Some break! Here you sit on your hands doling out answers rather than joining the rest of us in ridding the world of evil! I mean, what kind of jerk just watches people die?"

Mason's face turned solid with ire, "I am not going out there just because someone says they think I should. It's _my_ choice. And I'm certainly not into joining the Rainbow Girls just because they can't handle themselves."

Camila shot forward and slammed her palm on the desk, forcing Mason to flinch. "Listen here, asshole! People are _dying_ out there and you can help put a stop to that! Someone with abilities like yours shouldn't just shelve themselves in some musty old basement and waste away!"

Dean interceded: "whoa, whoa, whoa." he guided her away from Sam and stepped between them. "Let's just take a breather, children, shall we? I mean, after all whatever is wrong can wait. It can be fixed."

Camila tossed her head, her silky white hair flowed about her shoulders. "You don't know the half of it, Dean. Whatever is going on out there is about to bust wide open. We're not looking at demons or ghosts. We're looking at _monsters_. The great big scary kind. _Kraken_."

Dean nodded, standing his ground between she and Mason. "Okay. Okay. It's just that infighting doesn't solve anything. I know from personal experience, okay? Besides, seems to me using Mason's brain is more important than showing his pretty face at the battlefield."

"Not necessarily true," Camila snipped.

"Camila," Mason growled, "shut up."

"You've never seen him fight," she continued in spite. "He's good; he knows how to track-"

Mason jumped out his chair. "I said SHUT UP!"

Dean turned to him. "Okay. Let's calm down and move on. Alright?" Dean caught the flicker of copper in Mason's eyes; the flicker of Sam's own temper. He burned his eyes into the lady hunter and she backed down and backed off. She leaned against the stairs. "There have been sightings of things walking on water. Horrific earthquakes. Volcanic activity."

Dean chanced a guess of his own: "changes in the Aurora Borealis?"

"Yes, exactly," she affirmed. "They all point to the Water Gates and the things walking out of them."

Dean processed the information. He and Sam fought Heaven and Hell and barely won. It seemed the Water Gates would be small potatoes compared to the apocalypse. "So what's the deal with the uh, father-son thing and what's this Network you mentioned earlier?"

Camila glued her gaze to Mason. "Mason's found clues that a father-son team is given the power to control and close the Gates. As to the Network, I'm surprised you've not heard of them... Dean Winchester." she slid her brown eyes onto him with a hint of disappointment.

Dean blinked and chose not to play her dumb little game. "Like I said, Happily Ever After in Indiana. So... how do you plan to find this father-son thing?"

Mason set the stack of photos on the desk. "That's just the thing. We don't have enough information. The Father-Son could be anything from an incantation to an object, a weapon or persons. I might find the answers here." he waved Bobby's photos. "But it will take time to go through it all.

Camila tugged out a business card from a pocket in her jacket sleeve. "This guy here swears there might be an Informant in Washington Island. Sounds something like your job."

Mason took the card and scoffed. "Romero Renniker?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, he's not that reliable, Camila. He tried to 'modernize' a salt and burn with _garlic _and got three people killed."

"Mason, he's the one who stopped a fire elemental from taking over Steelstown, Pennsylvania last year-"

"Yeah, but he also believes he saw a _unicorn_. And this... who knows what he thinks could possibly be here."

Camila shrugged. "So, go check it out. You're a big boy."

Mason scoffed with disbelief, his smile one of annoyance. "I am not going out there."

Camila glanced at Dean who gave her a single shake of his head. She needed to just stop. She rolled her eyes. "It'd be far easier for you to check on something like that than me and Alex. Look... I could probably even talk Alex into going in with you, if you think-"

"That's not the point, Camila!" Mason shot his eyes at her and Dean swore he caught the same usual gleam in them.

"Then what is it?" she asked hotly. Mason turned away, shaking his head. "Oh, come ON, Mason! You have to get past this... jag you're on. Just accept who and what you are!"

"Well, Alex hates my guts. And I am not interested."

She scoffed, huffed and turned away, meeting Bobby's eyes. "He's good," she said, pointing back at Mason. "I mean, he can do things nobody else can-"

"STOP IT! JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!" Mason erupted. He shoved the photocopies off the desktop and wove his way around the other three. He took the steps two at a time, and disappeared.

Dean looked to Camila. "Congrats on getting him to Hulk-up, Sweetheart." He did not wait to watch her stare at the ceiling, wordless. Dean took the stairs and traced Mason's path through the kitchen and out the front door. Sunshine forced his eyes to squint.

The half-second he touched the porch, Marco's teeth shot into his face, but never touched him. Marco cowed quickly and gave Dean a set of pitiful guilty eyes. Dean waited for his heart to slow down. He shook his head at Marco. "Okay, Pooch. First off, I'm not the bad guy. We clear on that note? Secondly, let's find Mason. Can you-" he did not need to repeat. Marco wuffed once and trotted round the house. Dean followed and found Mason beside the tool shed, sitting on the steps, his face creased with a frown. His shoulders slumped upon seeing Dean.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Dean's heart swelled. When was the last time he heard that? Not so much the words, but the tone. He sat a step below. "What's with the drama between you and Lady Storm in there?"

"Oh, she wants me to be a part of her team."

"That's bad?"

"No, not really. Camila is good. Alex is also good. But Camila wants me to do things I'd rather not do. Alex hounds me constantly about my past. He's on this mission to stick his nose in everyone's business." Mason stared into nothing, a mask of misery hung heavy on his face. "Dean... why are you here?"

Dean blinked as though waking. "What?"

"You know you do not have to hang around for your answers. I can easily email them to you. And I know you know that. Why are you here? Why have you stayed?"

Dean shrugged. "I like the drama." he joked. Mason gave him a distasteful, annoyed expression. Dean spotted the glint of hot copper in Mason's eyes again. It was beautiful and frightening at the same time.

Sunday night. Camila left an hour before Mike came home. She did not say her good-bye or apologize to Mason. Dean thought that was a bit cold, but typical among most hunters. Not that it mattered much. His problem was Mason. Dean still could not decide if he should leave Mason here with Abby, cozy and homey, or if he wanted to tell Mason who he really was. Bobby returned to the motel to pack the truck. Dean did not want to sleep. He did not want to leave. Abby fixed them a wonderful dinner and Mike finally came home after pulling a rugged eighteen-hour shift. He mumbled his greeting, welcomed Dean with an exhausted smile then staggered upstairs to their bedroom and crashed.

Dean crashed on the couch again and allowed Abby to fuss over his comfort. She kindly wished him a good sleep and retired.

Dean fell right to sleep. The cozy smells of a real home, complete with the scents of grass and sunshine off Marco, lulled the former hunter into a sense of complacency. Just before his mind fell blank with rest, Dean briefly wondered if Abby would allow him to come back for another visit.

The soothing tones of a clock chimed at four A.M. Dean dragged a long breath and shifted in the couch. Marco lifted her head, ears perked and alert. The rottie-mix sat up, ears tight and high.

"_Yer related to a monster,"_ Gordon said to Dean.

"_Sam is not a monster."_

"_He drinks blood."_

Dean rolled his eyes. _"What sins have you never committed, Gordon? And don't tell me murder was one of them. I know better."_

"_Monster. That makes you the monster's brother. That makes you a monster, too!"_

_Dean wrapped his arms around Sam. "You belong here."_

_Sam's gentle voice came deathly-soft. "Don't let me go. Don't let me go."_

_Monster._

_Sam opened his eyes, fully black but a light film covered them in a fiery copper tone. Dean did not know why, but he thought they were beautiful. No, he decided, Sam was no monster. Not freak or demon child. Just Sam Winchester. _

_My baby brother._

_Gordon growled, low and menacing._ He snorted and growled again. Dean woke, his face drenched with tears. He sat up and wiped his cheeks as Marco growled again, this time more pronounced.

"What's a matter?" Dean whispered. He withdrew the demon knife and crouched as Marco stared at the door, snarling. Dean flinched when the dog's eyes rolled solid silver-white. Her teeth dropped a good inch down.

The window by the couch shattered and a black figure leaped into the room. Marco cleared Dean by two feet, attacking the intruder with several sharp barks between growls. Another figure crashed through. Dean rolled back and swung tight. His assailant hissed and snapped back with equal speed. A third invader entered and threw something in Dean's direction. He ducked as a throwing iron sang through the air and sunk into the wall behind him. Dean met the third attacker's charge, blocking an attempt at his neck then swung again with the knife. The dark manifestation hissed while the second opponent drew a long sword. It gleamed cold in the lightless room. Dean kicked the third assailant away and met the second one, knife blade to sword. The creature struck Dean along the right cheek. Dean jumped back just as the sword came at him again. It sliced along Dean's shoulder, leaving a trail of blood. Dean snapped his wrist and sent the knife piercing blindly into shadow and soft tissue.

Marco barked and cried out in pain. Her attacker abandoned the dog, leapt over the couch, and aimed for Dean.


	5. Reaffirmation

A/N Sorry this took longer. Had to go back and correct a few major mistakes and add more detail-then lost the corrections and had to do them over. . It's been a real privilege writing Supernatural. Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed!

REAFFIRMATION

An arrow whistled through the air and Dean's second attacker arched backward with impact. Flames ruthlessly devoured the creature as it screamed and writhed in agony. With two more strikes, the creature's companions followed, leaving the room filled with a bitter-ash scent.

Mason stood at the top of the stairs. His large hands clutched a heavy crossbow. He leapt over the stair rail and landed like a cat. "Marco," he called. The dog rounded from the couch, limping lightly. Her backside wagged. "Marco," Mason repeated. "Recon."

As the rottie-mix scoured the house for potential problems, Mason knelt before Dean. He examined their guest with his eyes. Dean sat on his knees. His knife lay on the floor, covered in dark green blood. He bowed in pain, wincing. The strike along Dean's shoulder and cheek burned; acid flowed into his veins.

"What's going on?" Abby's voice carried through the house. "Good Lord, Mason!"

"Abby, I need the cumfrey and konbu extract." Mason ran a thumb over Dean's brow as the man's skin broke chilled and damp. "Hold on, Dean," he whispered, "I know it hurts."

Behind Mason, Mike flipped on the kitchen light. "What the hell happened? Looks like a demon held a party and didn't ask permission."

"Shadow wraiths," Mason answered simply. "I'm sure of it." he kept a hand on Dean's shoulder as Mike stepped into the livingroom, examining the damage.

"Damn. I _knew_ we should have used invisible ink on those windows and etched protection grids. I'll get the salt. Mason, where's Marco?"

Abby returned and handed Mason a jar of crushed herbs and oil. "I sent her on recon." Mason offered a weak smile as he applied medicine over Dean's shoulder and cheek.

Dean's eyes snapped open. "That's COLD!"

Mason meekly nodded. "Let me help you up Dean."

Determined to move under his own power, Dean struggled off his knees but swayed slightly and leaned against Mason for momentary support. The medicine's icy touch sat on his shoulder, heavy as a brick. It eked into his wound then it shot into his veins. The chill flared throughout his body, shoving out the hot acid. Dean stared into _Sam's_ eyes, stared into the copper glow. The cold in his blood weighed him down. Dean closed his eyes and fell into Mason's arms.

_John Winchester smiled sadly. "I want you to take care of Sammy, okay?"_

"_Yeah, Dad, you know I will," Dean swallowed the blockage in his throat. He didn't like the way his father smiled. It was the same smile good-bye John gave him before going on a hunt. His father bowed over, lips to his ear: _

"_If you can't save Sam, you'll have to kill him."_

_Dean turned to the ghost-image of his dad, now long since dead for half a decade. "Sam isn't here anymore. And I'm not your little soldier-boy. I have a family to care for and Sam... Sam made his bed and is lying in it."_

"_Don't be so matter-of-fact, Dean." John admonished._

_Zachariah smirked. "It has to be the two of you. All through the centuries, we've carefully manipulated the bloodlines so that it comes down to the two of you_."

_Dean and Sam took time at the park to talk heart-to-heart. Sam swung around, arms spread in frustration. "I'm a whole other level of freak, Dean!"_

_Dean studied his little brother, young, strong, intelligent. And if you're a freak, he thought, and my brother, what does that make me? I was-am-an angelic vessel. Are we really that much different? Do I have the same inherent abilities?_

_What are you, Sam? What does that make me?_

A narrow shaft of lazy sun warmed Dean's body. He drew a deep breath and found his temperature back to normal. Roxi lay on the floor beside the daybed. Dean found himself in a small room. His eyes fell on an old movie poster of _Heaven Can Wait_. A photograph depicted two young men in army uniforms. Their faces wore the discipline and training from boot camp. Further to the right, Dean met Castiel's intense blue eyes. Castiel sat backwards in a kitchen chair, not so much as twitching.

Disinclined to leave the daybed's comfort, Dean merely stared at Cass. He kept his expression neutral. "So... missed me much? Does the misses of the house know you're here? She'll make coffee-"

"It's good to see you again, Dean." Castiel returned with a leveled voice.

Dean forced himself up. He stretched his neck and checked the wound on his shoulder. Gone. Not so much as a scar. "So!" he searched for something to say. "You seemed to have found me easily enough. I guess Angel Line 4-1-1 is still working, huh? You know Abby will want to feed you once she knows you're here."

"They're still asleep except Mason."

"You know about Mason?"

"Yes. And before you accuse me of anything, I should tell you that I was not the one who pulled Sam out of the Pit."

"Oh yeah? Who, then?"

"I can't tell you. His identity has to remain undisclosed."

"Of course. Can't go telling me any Heavenly secrets; I might post them on MySpace."

"Dean, you need to know that Mason has left to hunt the Informant. Alone."

Dean stared hard at Cass. "He left without saying good-bye?"

"Yes."

"When's he coming back?"

"Eventually."

"What's that mean?"

"I think you already know. It's Monday, Dean."

"Yeah."

"You need to decide."

Dean slowly blinked and swallowed the hardness in his chest. "You mean about choosing life in the Twighlight Zone with Sam or Home Improvement with Lisa and Ben?" Castiel grimly nodded. Dean scowled. He still could not choose. Why did he have to choose between them? Dean swept a hand through his hair then wiped his mouth and sighed heavily. "Look, Cass, how the hell am I supposed to make that kind of decision? _Why_ do I have to make that kind of decision? Can't I just leave Sam here, safe and sound and live in Indiana and make weekend trips up here?" Dean cast his eyes on the floor. It was nice not having to sleep with one proverbial eye open. It was good not driving cross-country to bash a ghost or play hopscotch with some demon. But Sam... Sam.

A moment's silence expanded between them until Castiel's voice came back, firm but gentle and to Dean, soothing. "Truth be told, Dean, Sam will survive-"

"He really doesn't know who he is, does he?"

"No. The minute someone puts that together, he'll be hunted, possibly for the rest of his life. The hunting community are among the most resourceful. It's their gift. And many of them are aware of the war you and Sam fought. We brought Sam to Wisconsin in the care of someone we trusted to keep him safe-"

"Look, Castiel, I don't really mean to be a dick about this, but I have been scraping myself together day after day, everyday-for five years- denying Sam's in the Hell of Hells, suffering. Now he's back, I have something that looks like a normal life and I'm being forced to make a decision I don't wanna make." Dean roved his eyes around Castiel as his temper simmered. "And what the hell do you mean he'll survive?"

"Dean, if I thought I could plant Sam into another life, another body, I would. But that's not how it works. We blocked his memory and brought him here but he won't always be safe here."

Dean's face turned all business. "Exactly how long was Sam down there?"

Castiel could not look at him; a bad sign. "Three Earth years.

Mortified, Dean turned pale and stopped breathing. "You _left_ him down in the pit for three years, Cass? What the hell?"

Castiel sighed. He laid his eyes on the door. A sad expression wore him down. "It took us three Earth years to fight our way in, Dean. Traveling through Hell is not like a drive from Michigan to Texas. Especially considering Sam was in the Cage. There are things-as you well know-living there that are almost impossible even for angels to kill."

"Alright," Dean pushed ahead. He did not like to remember his time in 'jail'. "What if I return to Lisa? What happens to Sam?"

"The case Camila and Mason are working on will call attention to many, many hunters. Sooner or later, someone will figure out Mason's true identity. Most likely he'll have to disappear underground. Camila's partner, Alex, has sworn to kill you and Sam. At the moment, he hasn't put two and two together. We made sure you were off the hunter's radar."

Dean's eyes harden. Sam knew how to ghost out. Disappearing without a trace was almost their trademark. But that was part of Dean's problem. "You're saying that I might not see Sam again, aren't you? He'd be out there, somewhere, alive. But to protect everyone he contacted here, he'd fall off the map entirely."

"There's not much choice, Dean. I'm sorry. Sam left Hell with the key to the Water Gates. His life will be very difficult in the coming months. But I'm sure your brother will survive. He's had the best training."

Dean wanted to strangle the angel. "That stuff Sam scribbles out when he's zoning is the code to the Gates, isn't it?"

"Part of it, Dean. We had to lock his memory for him to remain sane. The Gates are also DNA-encoded. They were designed so that demons cannot rig it, no matter what spells they use or what weapon they craft."

Dean thought about it. Sam would, indeed, have to travel deep under the radar for a while. So did he want a cozy life with Lisa and Ben, or a life on the run with his brother? Dean knew Sam would want happiness for his big brother. Personal cost was inconsequential. Dean shook his head. His personal cost for staying with Lisa would be unending guilt and worry. Lisa had her job, her life, her family. Sam had _connections._ But Dean knew his brother's chances of survival were better if someone had his back. "Cass, where exactly is Sam right now?"

Dean found Abby in the kitchen, humming to the radio. She grinned and poured coffee into the maker. "Morning there, Dean. Did you sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah. Abby, Mason's gone."

She turned sad and nodded. "I know. Hopefully he'll be back tonight and in one piece."

"You let him go out alone?"

"When he's hunting, yes. I have little choice. He becomes a completely different person at that point. He pays for it later. But... that's why we have him on medication." she shrugged.

With reluctant silence, Dean agreed. "Okay. I'm going after him. I just need to call Bobby and-"

Abby held a palm to his face, "Whoa! Don't you head out the barn half-cocked, there, Dean."

"Abby, he's my brother. I can't just leave him-"

"Yes, you can, Dean. I know you don't realize it, but he's fond of you and probably left so he'd not have to say good-bye."

"What?"

Abby's eyes shifted left, her lips strained with truth. "He's afraid that once you get to know him, really get to know him, you'll walk out and break his heart."

"Sounds like a soap opera script." Dean muttered.

"Don't you talk to me like that, young man!" Abby snapped. "You don't know half his story. Your Sam can't possibly be the same person he was before he came to us! You don't _want _this,Dean. Go back to Indiana. Live your life."

Dean swallowed as much distress as he could. "I can't. He's all the flesh and blood left that's related to me. He's _it_ in the family album."

Abby shook her head. Sympathy filled her eyes. "It doesn't matter, Dean. As I told you, Mason has his good days and his really, really bad days and miraculously, you've not seen him on a really, really bad day. Those are the days I have to use tranquilizers; the days when he can't go out of his room, the days... when all I can do is wait and pray. Don't put this on yourself, Dean. You don't owe him anything. And Mason certainly won't hold it against you."

Dean's chest tightened. He shook his head, resolute, but said nothing. He kept his mouth shut; his voice threatened to break.

Abby sadly sighed. "Dean, he's the sweetest thing on this planet. But I'm telling you, he's not... he's not _entirely_..." she hesitated, lost for words. "I don't know what happened to him. Maybe something as simple as an accident or a super-secret genetic experiment or something else equally as crazy. But Dean, Mason... _Sam_ is a hunter. To put it bluntly, he is a..." she shut her mouth, unable to even look Dean in the eye. She wracked her brain for gentle words. Guilt, sadness and pain etched lines into Abby's face. Batting her eyes, Abby faced Dean with the truth. "He kills monsters. Sam is not sane."

She finished the coffee. Dean read her body language. What did she leave out? Was she going to call Sam a monster? Did it really matter? Dean knew the person inside. He was related to said 'monster'; related to Sammy.

Maybe she was right. Dean turned away. His footsteps hesitated. His duffel lay in the little room. He needed to call Bobby. Yet... yet that big brother instinct screamed at him. His head knew Abby was right; he owed Sam nothing. Dean did his job. He raised Sammy and took care of him far past the call of duty. Dean didn't take care of Sammy because his nut-job father told him to.

Dean lived far above and beyond the call of duty. More than that, someone gave Dean permission to walk away. Forcing a sigh, he retreated and gathered his belongings. Dean dropped his duffel by the door and stepped outside to call Bobby.

A photograph of Sam welcomed him on the phone. He remembered he shot the candid photo while Sam worked on the computer several years ago in Colorado. Dean didn't know why he took the picture; just something he did to do something, he supposed. But it became a treasure afterward. Dean's heart sank and he drew breath, fighting tears.

Who was running away now?

Dean barged back into the house. "I can't do it, Abby," he declared. "I can't just... walk out and... and pretend this weekend didn't happen. I can't-" flashes of Sam standing at the edge of the pit shot through his head and burned his emotional walls. Dean broke, unable to hold the tears back. "I lost him five years ago, I can't lose him again, I just can't!"

Abby stood there, resigned. Her shoulders sank. "I don't know what you two have been through, hon. But, it's pretty damn obvious you've been through some kind of hell that I can't even begin to imagine." she watched Dean struggle to keep tears at bay and gathered him into her arms.

"Help me, Abby, please. I gotta find him. I know he's messed up but he's still the same person I died for eight years ago. Sam's... Sam's a part of me. Rip off my arms and legs, but Sam... that's my heart, Abby."

"Well, alright, hon." she withdrew and held his head between gentle hands. Abby fixed her gaze on his sweet green eyes. "Look, Dean, if you're serious about this, then you'd better call Bobby. And let me take you upstairs and get you something more than that knife you keep under the pillow." she pushed a frank smile on her face. "Of course, I know you're a big boy. But I'd feel better if you didn't go alone."

"I'll stick Marco in my back pocket."

She turned, eyes bright. "That's a good idea!"

As they ascended the stairs, Dean's phone paged. He flipped it open. "Hey, Bobby."

"_Ready to haul out, Dean? It's almost ten and I wanna get home at a descent time."_

Dean almost winced. "Uhhh... Bobby, how about you go ahead and take off? I-uh, Mason's made the lone-wolf move on that Informant up north. Washington Island. I'm gonna play sidekick."

"_Dean, you know... Lisa will probably kick your ass. Might want to give her a call."_

Dean dropped his head and wished for the billionth time he had his amulet. "Yeah," was all he could muster. What was this choice going to cost him? What more would it cost if he didn't go to Sam? A happy life in Indiana verses repairing the wounds in his soul.

No contest. No matter how much he loved Lisa and Ben.

Bobby heaved air out his lungs. Confused and worried, frustrated and hopeful, he tried to figure out what was best. _"Alright. Look, Dean, let me come-I mean, at least let me give you a ride up that way. I'm too old for chasing things around. But if you want to give Sam-'r Mason 'r whatever-another shot, then okay. I'll have your back."_

Dean couldn't stop the smile. He nodded. "Thanks, Bobby."

"_I'll be there in ten."_

The ninety minute drive stretched into eternity for Dean. He paid little to no attention to the scenery out the window. He formulated a number of ideas and plans and invented a few back-up plans. He recalled the strange changes Marco made the other night. Mason's dogs, indeed! Where did Sam find this creature? Dean gave Marco a once over and she returned the favor with a soft whimper and a doggy kiss to Dean's jawline. He grinned and realized just how fond he was of this mutt. She saved his life, defended him without hesitation. Now he wondered why he and Sam hadn't thought about getting a dog a long time ago. Sure their life style wasn't exactly animal-friendly. And certainly the kind of pooch they chose would have to be something pretty darned special.

Sam seemed to have found the critter that fit that bill perfectly.

They traveled up Highway 42 to the town of Gills Rock. Bobby slowed as a line of cars squatted in the road, waiting for passage. A forest ranger bounced from car to car, poking through the driver's windows. Dean and Bobby both examined the cab to make sure no weapons lay visible and their seat belts hugged them in place. Bobby turned down their music as a lady ranger greeted them.

"Afternoon," she declared. "We're just making sure you fellas know that Rock Island is closed off for a week or so."

Bobby tossed her half a grin. "We're just going to Washington for lunch."

Her light eyes bounced from hunter to hunter. "Starport, right?"

"'scuse me?" Bobby asked.

"You fellas are out to go to Starport's? They offer Canadian brew and the very best broiled crawfish. Always ask for the oyster dressing, never the shoreline dressing. Can't go wrong."

"Oh, yeah! Thanks. By the way, uh, my... son here is a photographer and he's looking for old abandoned buildings-"

She gave him a dubious lift of her brow. "You mean that mall that was blown in the storm two years ago?"

Dean eager grinned. "Yeah! How'd you guess?"

The ranger shook her head. "You're either brave or stupid. Sixteen people died in that area. Alright. Well, you fellas take care!" She stalked away, talking into her radio. Dean and Bobby exchanged a hopeful glance as the line inched forward.

Fifteen minutes on the road and they reached the ferry toll. Bobby forked out a handsome four and a half bucks and steered the pickup along the ramp, crossing water to the ferry. Dean silently closed his eyes and hung onto Marco. She 'kissed' him every time he shuddered.

"How you doin' over there?" Bobby asked as he parked on the ferry.

"Fine. Just peachy." Dean tried to keep the panic and snarl out of his voice. Marco wagged her bottom on the seat and softly whined.

"Wanna come out on deck?" Bobby offered.

"No, no. I'm good. Right here. I'm just gonna sit here and watch the dog."

"Uh-huh." Bobby moved to pet Marco. She growled ever so softly. He backed down. "Guessin' she's yer bitch, Dean." he muttered under his beard.

The twenty-five minute lapse from the mainland to Washington Island piers felt like hours to Dean. He thought of Lisa's disappointment and how hurt she was. Naturally she was a little angry that this trip turned into something more than it was supposed to. And Dean was sure his boss wasn't going to be happy when Dean coughed up a zero on the time clock. But this was for _Sam_. Dean had no idea how things were going to sail from here forward. He followed his heart and his intuition; his heart lay here. His intuition said this was his path.

Marco whined softly and licked Dean's ear again. The hunter eyed her with a smirk pasted over his lips. "You know, you keep that up and I'll make you pay for the next motel room so I can shower."

She shifted her feet, anxious, and panted.

Dean sent his gaze around the rottie-mix, watching Bobby. "I'm guessing she needs to do some business outside."

"We're almost there."

Ten minutes off the ferry, twenty minutes to escape the traffic. The half second Bobby pulled to a gas station, Dean slid out the truck and let Marco escape to do her necessity. He stood watch, wondering if they should put her on a leash. But Marco stood and sniffed the air then returned to the truck without being told. Impressed, Dean praised her and closed his door before invading the mini-mart for munchies and information.

The elderly couple in line ahead of him nattered back and forth as to whether they wanted to eat outside on the walkway or in the restaurant. Dean rolled his eyes. Their lives were about as complex as a gnat flying in circles. _Hi, my name is Dean Winchester. I hunt monsters. Mind if I move ahead of you?_

Dean lightly smiled and threw his gaze on the floor. He corrected himself, however. He didn't hunt monsters. Not anymore, anyway. Did he miss it? Did he miss the crappy motels, the constant move on the road? The bad food? The bars?

And didn't he ask himself all that before?

What the hell was he doing?

_Sam._

Life on the wild side in the Twighlight Zone or safe and sound in Home Improvement?

Wasn't safety an illusion, anyway?

Dean concluded that it was. After all, Cass said that the angels made sure Dean remained under the hunters' radar. He was glad that in spite of everything, the angels respected Sam enough to follow his wishes by protecting Dean. But what about now?

"Nineteen dollars, seventy-two cents." the cashier declared.

Dean dug into his wallet. "Hey, uh, we're looking for an old mall somewhere around here. Someone said it was abandoned?"

"Island Park Mall?"

"Yeah."

The boy vaguely pointed right. "Follow that road, hit Silver Street, go straight."

"Thanks, man."

"Uh, not a good idea to go there, though."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. They got the beaches closed cuz several people died or disappeared out there last month."

Dean clicked his tongue. "Darn."

Following the cashier's directions, Bobby steered his black pickup up to the yellow tape. Both hunters sat and stared at the two-story weather-beaten building. Anti-angel wards marred the walls in blood. Broken windows gave the building an unholy feel. Bullets punctured some places, graffiti smeared others. Dean and Bobby weren't the only or first hunters to visit.

"Well don't this look homey?" Bobby grumped. "You sure you wanna-"

"Absolutely." Dean slipped out and picked up the shotgun Abby gave him. Marco jumped down and waited for command. "Bobby," Dean double-checked his small arsenal. "Ever heard of Nevada Flats black salt?"

"No."

"Abby says it's a new find; even more potent than regular rock salt. But it's hard to procure because there's a territorial fight among several hunters."

"So... how'd they get a hold of it?"

"Camila." Dean watched Bobby nod. He nodded, never promising to be back, but counting on Bobby to be there. Dean produced a sock and held it out for Marco. "Go find Sam, Marco. Go find Mason." Taking in Bobby's be-careful expression Dean gave him a straight-lined smile and followed the rottie into the mall.

The stench of sulphur and rotting flesh assailed Dean the second he stepped through the broken doors. He stopped breathing and cringed. Marco lightly growled.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "someone needs to do a little spring cleaning." He wanted to call Mason's name but thought better of it. He walked into blind territory and surveyed as much as he could in a single sweep. Two stories. Non-working escalator. Glass, feces and dead animals lay everywhere.

_Sam_, he thought_, I'm here. I'm right here._

Marco padded ahead. Her sturdy body paced slow and graceful around debris, dead birds and junk brought in and left by transients. She sniffed the air, sniffed the ground. Her ears perked, her head rotated side to side, alert and observant. Dean shook his head. She was no ordinary dog.

Marco carefully headed left into a damaged sunken rest area. Filthy water pooled at the bottom. Rotten carpet perfumed the air with a sour, old plastic scent. Both hunter and dog treaded along the cement planters at the rim. They carefully avoided trash and more dead animals.

Marco bypassed a broken display stand and trotted through an archway into an old Sears store. She snarled as Dean silently joined her. Dean clocked the room, rifle at the ready to point and obliterate at a second's notice. Trash lay everywhere before them. If Dean had to guess, he'd dare say that the mall was used as an illegal dumping area. Wrecked shopping carts, old counter displays, rusting clothing racks and moldy carpeting lumped in giant piles along both sides of the store isle. Boards and cinder blocks closed off the only exit to the outside world. Enough outdoor light drilled into the room to give the old store an eerie, haunted feel.

Marco paused, her sight shifted left, right and behind. She softly growled, keeping her voice low, as if she knew anything louder endangered Dean's life. At first Dean thought the source of her agitation came from frustration. But lifting his eyes, he found the answer hung from the ceiling. Four animals and three humans hung upside down, drained of blood and stripped of skin.

Dean closed his eyes and steeled his nerves. What kind of creature did stuff like that? "Marco," he whispered, "find Sam. Find Mason." She obeyed, sniffing the ground, an upturned display counter and a broken shelf. After two more samples, she picked up a trail.

An inhuman screech cracked the soundless atmosphere. A ragged, hedious humanoid erupted from the rubbish and aimed its talons at Dean. Marco ferociously tackled. Beast and dog disappeared into a mess of scrap metal, rotting wood and trash. The monster roared. Marco fearlessly snarled and growled. The rubbish moved like leaves and dirt in wake of a mole. The creature bounded out of the rubble, Marco hot on its tail. Dean swung about and aimed to shoot. Marco ran it down, clamped the beast's back and yanked. She violently shook her head, tearing chunks of hide from the monster. The freak's long black talons reared back and sank into Marco's side. Puppy yelped and let go so that the thing instantly turned, scampering on all fours straight for Dean. It came at him like a four-legged humanoid spider, glowing eyes and drooling at the mouth.

Dean planted four rounds straight into the freak's face. It shrieked and rolled one way, then another, hands scrabbling at its head. Marco recovered and pounced. She went straight for the jugular. As the two wrestled, Dean switched from rifle to his handgun loaded with silver. He traced their fighting forms back and forth in the isle but could not get a clear enough a shot.

"Marco!" he called, "Stand clear, you goofy thing!"

Remarkably, Marco did as she was told. She let go and shot away just before Dean blew the monster's brains with one bullet. The freak lay still long enough for Dean to plant another in its chest. "Guess that pretty much rings the front doorbell," he softly muttered.

He and Marco waited to ensure the thing stayed dead. Dean did not even breathe. He lifted the handgun and toed the monster with his boot. "Better be dead," he muttered. "I'll have to make you into doggy biscuits."

Marco sneezed.

"Sorry, Sweetie," Dean said off the cuff. "I'd not feed that thing to you. You get only steak." When he felt the monster was dead as a bad song, Dean tucked the handgun away and checked the rifle for payload. "Come along, Marco, let's find Sammy."

At first Marco followed Dean into what used to be the Sears appliance center. Marco sniffed the flooring. She panted and tick-tocked her head left and right. Her ears perked alert. She whined again. Dean wanted to shout Sam's name but knew Mason would not answer. He heaved a sighed. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."

Marco contacted the hunter's eyes. She opened and closed her mouth, whining softly.

"What?" Dean asked. "Hey, if you know where Mason-_Sam_-is, then by all means, lead the way, Sweetie." He stepped aside and let the large pooch take the lead. Marco did just that, sniffing air and floor and found a bit of carpeting that apparently held something of dire interest. She sniffed and sniffed until she rubbed her nose into it.

"What?" Dean asked impatiently. "You found something? Has he been here?" Dean scratched his brow in embarrassment when Marco turned and peed on the area. "Yeah, alright, alright. You done yet?"

Marco snorted and trotted forward. Dean tagged, growing more aware of the waxing afternoon sun. He hoped to find Mason before sunset when the real nasties usually come out to play.

Marco paused at a corner of shelving and sniffed at one spot then another. Dean had to utilize a flashlight at this point and found her area of interest: blood. "Marco," he called. Dean scrunched down and produced the sock for her. "Is this what you found?"

She sniffed it, re-sniffed the corner, turned back to him and half-jumped with a soft, excited yelp. Dean stood, tucking the sock away. "Okay, go get him, girl!" She bounded off and he chased after, excited to finally get moving.

They found what was the footwear part of the store and a nonfunctional escalator. Marco bounded up the thing with no compunction. Dean followed, keeping one out for their backs since his shoes made more noise than her padded feet. Marco led him through children's wear and out the store. The mall's second story welcomed them with more rubble and a few fallen support beams. The skyviews above provided better lighting than what they had in the Sears store. But the world approached sunset.

Marco abruptly barked, loud and sharp.

"Hey!" Dean called hoarsely, "shh! You'll wake the Big Bad Wolf!"

Marco whined once, eyeing him oddly. She nosed ahead, dragging him along an isle bordered on either side by more of the same junk from bankrupt retailers. They passed a Hallmark store, a sports T-shirt place and a candy shop before Marco sounded off again. Her barks smacked the air in such a sharp, loud tones that Dean covered his ears. That was no natural bark. She repeated, her body trembled with the effort.

Dean almost did not see what erupted from the debris on his right. Wrecked chairs, a ruined desk and piles of trash flew in all directions as a huge manifestation bounded into the air. Its large hoofs slammed in the isle just a few feet from Dean and Marco. Had he not seen it, Dean would never have believed such a thing; a centaur. Full-blown, half-horse, half-human, very much real. Marco chased after and Dean shook his head to clear the inaction of shock from his brain. Following the more agile Marco, Dean cleared broken benches, leaped over crushed trash cans and sprang from a fallen soda dispensing unit.

Hoofclaps left a clear audio trail but the wreckage and smashed flooring made it easier to follow the beast. The centaur ran through a doorway into the mall's service areas meant for employees only. Down two hallways, through a two-way dysfunctional bathroom and into another large conference room. The centaur leapt upon a broad, heavy table, charged down and shattered a wall of windows. The beast smacked into the wall across the hallway, leaving a painful dent in the drywall. Blood smeared wall and floor alike. But injured or not, the mythical creature kept running as Marco snarled after it, insane to nab her prey.

Dean followed, finding his body not to par on such a high-speed chase. What the hell was he doing? Wasn't this classified as a hunt? Lisa was gonna kill him.

The centaur turned into another hallway weakly lit by another skyview. Sunset closed in. The centaur abruptly slid to a stop when the hallway ended; left turn or right?

Neither.

Mason ambushed the beast from the right. The centaur emitted an inhuman screech and thrashed. Powerful hoofs wrecked holes into the walls and came precious inches too close to Mason's face. The beast wasn't quick enough, however, to avoid a nice slice along its chest. Mason swiped it with a silver knife then ducked when the centaur tried a backhanded slap.

The centaur leaped, crossed the wall, landed heavily behind Dean and from nowhere produced a glowing sword. The world moved in slow motion and Dean moved with it as he too dodged a terrible blow. Mason yanked Dean out of the way when the centaur reared up and stabbed the floor. Lightning bolts shot in all directions, revealing the beast's true face; a thing deformed; extended teeth and eyes the likes of which Dean had no way to describe.

Mason's knife rang through the air and sank into the beast's chest.

Dean curled in on himself as the centaur screamed so ghastly, the hunter felt it in his bones. Mason protected him with his body. _Sam_ protected him with his body. At the very contact, Dean felt something deep inside close like a wound, healing. What it meant or what it was exactly, he could not say. But the very next instant, Mason was gone. The centaur also disappeared, leaving Dean alone with Marco.

"_Sam_," he whispered. "Marco," he called, his voice dried from sensory overload. The large, sweet dog came to Dean's aid and allowed Dean to use her bulk to help him to his feet. His trembling had less to do with nerves and more with residual EMF pulses. "Marco, find Mason."

She tilted her head just so, ears perked then turned and trotted, sniffing air and floor alike. With a deep breath, Dean tracked after. The setting sun left little to work with. Strange noises echoed in the mall. Dean's breath puffed with cold Wisconsin evening air. He wanted to find Sam and get the hell out. Marco paused at a hallway intersection, ears again perked. Dean wondered if she lost the scent.

That same awful screech uttered by the centaur echoed through the mall. Dean clamped hands over his ears as Marco joined it with a howl of her own. Dean staggered back when several shop and sky views busted. The scream ended, but another voice reverberated in its place. Dean recognized the Latin but not the words themselves. Just as he stood straight, something shoved his face into a neaby wall and a familiar hand slammed flat near his eyes.

"Sa-Mason," Dean grunted. "What the hell?" he turned but Mason's other hand pushed his face back.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME!" Mason exploded. "What the hell's wrong with you? You were supposed to go back to Indiana so I'd not have to say good-bye!"

"Just wanted to hear your melodious voice one more time."

"Bullshit."

"Wow, does Abby know you're using naughty words?"

"Dean," Mason's voice wavered. "Go back to your car and your friend. Return to Indiana and do not look back."

"And if I don't?"

"You know too much, Dean. You're endangering me and Abby and Mike. You _can't_ stay."

"Yeah? So what the hell you doin' out on a hunt you told Camila you'd not take? And why the hell are you doing it alone?"

"That's not of your concern. Leave now and DON'T come back!"

Dean noted the subtle way Mason relaxed his hold. Knowing all Sam's moves as much as his own, Dean twisted round, caught Sam at the right ankle and had him pinned on the floor faster than his brother's next breath. "Look at me," Dean snarled.

"NO!" Mason wrestled against him.

Dean gripped Mason's face. "I SAID LOOK AT ME!"

"No!" Mason struggled to get away and it took a good deal of Dean's strength to keep him pinned. Sam's size had nothing on Dean's sheer determination and finally his resistance melted into surrender. But Sam would not open his eyes. "Why? Why are you here?" he mourned.

Dean released his grip and pulled Mason up by the collar. They sat in the near-dark, facing one another. Dean tried to read Mason's body language. "You know, I can be a real dumbass sometimes. Just when I think I got the right answer, the question rewrites itself and I gotta start over. I was gonna just clam up and leave everything as is. I was gonna to go back to Lisa and Ben. This whole hunting thing has cost me more than anyone should ever gotta pay. Thing of it is? I can't deny what I am. I just... couldn't resist looking into something I had no business getting into. But what the hell, huh?" He tightened his jaw and glanced over his shoulder, finding Marco sitting quietly. "Look, Mason," he turned back. "I finally figured out what your name is; what it means."

"I don't understand," Mason mourned.

"No Sam. Mason backwards. You been suppressing your identity all along. I dunno, man. Something Castiel said. And will you _please_ look at me?"

"No, Dean. You _don't_ want to see me like this. _Please, please... don't."_

Dean gripped Mason's shoulders and fisted his jacket sleeves. "_Look at me!_ Your name isn't Mason! You are _Sam Winchester_! You're my little brother! You died, Sam. You've been missing for five years! And all of a sudden, boom, here you are! I am not leaving you!"

"What?" Sam's voice broke. He shivered, "You don't want me! Mike and Abby were barely kind enough to let me live! And I shouldn't ..." he broke into tears.

Dean wiped them with his thumbs. "Sam, Sam. Whatever it is, whatever it is, let _me_ decide."

Sam only wept. "Whatever your Sam was like before he died, he's not the same, now."

Dean's voice fell soft, "but I see lots of him that's still the same. Yeah, it's odd that he sleep walks and zones out but he's still the same book-worm, computer geek. I still see that same person..._I_ raised."

Sam shook his head. "Not this one, Dean." he lifted his head, "Not this one." Sam gazed at him and revealed a set of fully-blackened eyes. "You don't want this. You don't want this." Sam wept, turned and crawled away, leaving Dean stunned.

Dean sat there until he remembered he made a choice. He chose to go after Sam and it _was still_ Sam, demonic eyes and all. But... do monsters cry? Monsters prey on people, damages lives... _evil_ destroys.

"_No, Dean, our job is to hunt evil."_

One hundred percent Sam. It was Sam that saved him from the creatures that broke into the house and Sam that responded to him and Sam that protected him from the centaur. Dean scrambled after him, running in the dark until he found the shadow still crawling, silently weeping. Dean gently pulled Sam off his hands and rested him against the wall.

"Sam, Sam, you're my little brother. I don't care about anything else. I was a mess when Dad died, a _wreck_. But that, Sam? That's _nothing_ compared to what your death did to me-_twice_. You made me promise to not try to bring you back. I did that, Sam. But you're here, now. That gives me licence to bring you home. What makes you think I can go on living with just half a soul? I'm not the same. I'm not okay." Tears caught in his throat and his breath hitched. _"Sam..._"

Sam pursed his lips, eyes shifted elsewhere then returned. "The situation is... complicating, Dean. If I am Sam..." _Mason_ turned away, consternation written over his features.

Marco growled low and menacing. She backed toward them.

Dean stood and checked both his guns. "Guessin' ugly's back. What kind of dog is that, anyway?"

Sam stood, setting his expression into neutral. "You don't want to know." He knew Dean glanced at him, expecting a better answer. "Marco," he whispered, "protect." He followed Marco as she guided them out the darkness into the next hallway, weakly lit by a nearby street lamp.

Dean's breath hitched when Marco disappeared before their eyes. He heard her footfalls, found her shadow. Her shadow, however, wavered weak and far larger than her physical form. But what really freaked Dean was how the dog's shadow held a single red eye.

The same blood-freezing screech shook the air and snapped glass shards around them. Both Dean and Sam held their ears and dropped to their knees. Marco howled, long and horrific; a sound not normally heard on Earth.

The flooring clanked, glass shards crunched and lifted his eyes. The centaur returned. It held a glowing lance above its head. Sam lunged, pushing his brother out of the way as the lance sank into the floor.

Marco snarled, her body seen nowhere. But something attacked the centaur and dragged the beast off its huge hoofs. The centaur screamed and kicked like a bull. It slammed against one wall, crashed into another. Something tugged at Dean's shirt and dragged him out of shock. Sam's hands hauled him out of the way just as the two creatures landed hard, cracking the cement flooring.

Dean gathered enough brain cells together to move with Sam out the hall and down the stairs. Half way to the main floor, Sam hesitated.

"What are you doing?" Dean hissed.

"I can't leave Marco with that thing."

"Sam-"

"I'M NOT LEAVING HER, DEAN!"

Dean held his hands up, surrendering. Sam produced two magnesium flares, lit them and with all his might, threw them back to the second level. He and Dean all but slid down the last few steps. The flares lit the building, flooding every inch, crevice and crack with blinding light.

Rather than searching for a door, Dean found a heavy steel bar and shattered the closest window out. He and Sam escaped the mall as the top floor blew out.


	6. AntiSynthesis

A/N: This might be a bit slow, but hang in there. The next chapter might be a bit rough. Also, please feel free to toss me comments or questions if you have them ^-^

Anti-Synthesis

Sam Winchester: saint and sinner, spread his arms and accepted his fate. He paid the ultimate price for his family's collective sins. Mother, father and Dean all sold their souls for one another and in the end, Sam died for them.

Growing up all he wanted was a normal, quiet life. His father tried to beat the notion out of him through obsession. Dean tried to brainwash it out of him through his personal insecurities. At the last, Sam gave his life so his brother would have a better chance at normalcy.

Dean knew he'd carry the image of Sam at the Pit's edge, arms spread wide, for the rest of his life.

A wet, soft, warm tongue licked his nose then his forehead. Dean moaned and opened his eyes, greeting the deep evening sky. Bobby's voice came from the distance, calling his name, calling Mason. Dean rolled onto his back. He faced a monster, freaked, and dropped the bomb on Mason the truth about his real I.D. The two of them escaped out a busted window just as the building blew.

"Dean? You alright, Son?" Bobby gripped his upper arm, his face invisible in the dark. "Dean!"

Dean laughed. Pure release. Better than tears, better than all the masks he used through the last several years.

Sam beside him echoed that laughter. "Dean, you are a trouble magnet."

"Bitch," Dean retorted. "Oh, God, I've not had that much fun in _years_." he stopped himself, the smiled died with epiphany. It _was_ fun! Running and chasing shadows, shooting at things most people never even heard of... and ending on his back, getting a wake-up call from a dog and his brother beside him, also laughing. Dean sat up and met Bobby's worried-sick expression. With a hand on _Sam's_ shoulder-Sam, not Mason-Dean's eyes shined at his 'father'. "Bobby, I'd like you to meet my brother, Sam Winchester." Sam. Dean squeezed his shoulder. It was him, the other half of his soul.

Bobby shifted his gaze between the two men and shook his head. He wiped his face. "I'm gonna wake up in the morning with a head full head a' white hair. You two idiots scared ten years off a' me!"

Sam lay back down and rubbed and petted Marco. "Sorry, Bobby," he said amicably. "I wasn't counting on anyone coming out to check up on me." Marco whimpered and shifted her weight.

"Well, what the hell didja come out here by yerself for? You coulda asked one of us t' go with you, you moron!"

Sam sat up and measured Bobby with his eyes. "I guess I'm accustomed to doing it alone, Bobby." he offered a weak smile.

Dean slapped his leg. "You hungry? I'm hungry! Let's find something to eat!"

They left Sam's car at the factory, intending to return to it later. They stopped at an all-night restaurant at the edge of the island before boarding the ferry back to Green Bay. Sam insisted eating outside so he could share his dinner with Marco. Dean happily joined him, Bobby chose to remain inside and give them room and time together.

"I gotta know," Dean said with a mouthful of burger, "where the hell did you get a dog like that? I mean, she's obviously um, a different breed."

Sam gave her a few more fries and two fish sticks. "I didn't. She found me."

Dean blinked with a second look. "You still attracting alien species, Sam?"

Sam grinned. "You mean like you?"

"I don't swing in that direction."

"Terminally hopeless Homicidal maniacs usually don't, Dean. But seriously, she found me. I was sleepwalking... I dunno, bout a year and a half ago. Ended up ten miles away, woke up having no idea where I was. These four gorillas thought I was their new toy. Suddenly this really creepy growl sounds outta nowhere and one of those guys turned into a pile of shredded cheese. The other three are so freaked, they can't move. One by one, they all end up slashed and trashed. I thought I was next, since I lay on the ground, unable to move; easy pickings. Instead I get a wet _kiss_ across the mug. The next second I see this horse of a dog sitting next to me, wagging its butt."

Sam ate four more bites of his chicken sandwich then gave the rest to Marco. Dean watched Marco watch both of them. She begged only by means of her eyes. "She's a smart pooch," he said.

"Almost too smart," Sam agreed. "And she likes you."

"So, exactly what-uh-what..." Dean didn't know whether to call Marco a dog or a beast.

"Hellhound, Dean," Sam answered bluntly.

Dean chewed more thoughtfully. He suspected, honestly. But hoped Marco was something else. Were it not for Crowly owning a hellhound of his own, Dean would never thought it possible to have such a critter for a pet. Still, he REALLY liked the idea. What better a backup than a dog that turns ghost when hunting?

"Does Abby and Mike, uh..." Dean's sentence trailed when he thought he heard something _off_. He did not see Marco gaze in the same general direction as he.

"Yeah," Sam answered, "they know. Well, not at first. They didn't want to board a dog. But since I was at the house by myself when they worked, they realized it was a good idea. Couple weeks later, they brought Roxi home. What's wrong?" Sam watched as his dog and new-found brother took several steps from Bobby's truck, peering across the water. Sam joined them and watched as a retired couple docked their boat.

Marco slowly advanced before Dean, sniffing her way to the pier. Sam narrowed his eyes. He quickly returned to the truck and picked up a flare gun and a rosary. He rejoined his brother and watched as the water turned glass-calm. Other people took notice, their eyes glued to the area, their mouths frozen with expectation. Bobby emerged from the restaurant, zipped to his truck and returned, shotgun in hand. He could not get through the pressing crowd to the boys without bringing too much attention to himself. He too waited, his brow creased with uncertainty.

The water bubbled and gurgled before surging. Marco barked and backed up as an eerie, sullen red light rose from the deep. More people gathered at the edges, pointing to the water, taking photos, asking questions.

The water shot high above buildings and trees, rolling and tumbling off an invisible shape. Marco backed further as water drenched the pier and walkways. Dean and Sam only shielded their eyes from the downpour. As everyone else screamed and scampered, Dean, Marco and Sam stood their ground, breath lost. Bobby pressed his way through the skittering crowd. He kept a short distance; close enough to lunge, far enough to shoot upward.

Marco snarled, sneezed once, growled again. But she refrained from attacking. Whatever beast or creature came up, it inched from the island. Dean and Sam raced to the pier's edge and watched water splish-splash like footsteps; as though someone or something walked upon the liquid surface.

Marco whined softly beside Dean who had half a mind to use his weapon. But the invisible creature did not attack, did not approach either people or objects. Dean looked to his brother whose eyes froze unblinking. "Sam?" he called softly. He waited a few beats. "Sam? Hey." He tugged at Sammy's shoulder and still received no response. Dean turned Sam about to face him. His brother's eyes blinked once, his face devoid of cognizance. Dean laid his hands about Sam's face, willing to get through. "Hey." Dean acknowledged Bobby's approach with a glance.

Sam closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted and depressed. Marco whimpered and licked his hand.

Dean dropped an arm across his brother's shoulders and guided him off the pier. "Come on, Sammy, let's get you home."

Mid morning on Tuesday found Bobby driving his truck along the thick band of traffic of Highway 42. Dean held a sleeping Sam close to his heart. His brother passed out the moment they rolled off the ferry. Not once did Bobby complain about the tight fit. Three full-grown men and a large rottweiler left no room for comfort. But they had Sam-_Sam_, not Mason. Well... at least Mason accepted that he was Sam. Time would tell whether or not the situation turned permanent. Bobby worried that Sam's new I.D. and frame of mind might reject Dean at some point.

Anything could change; Bobby worried for Dean.

Dean phoned Abby ahead of time and explained that they just left Mason's car and they'd pick it up later. Abby's voice pitched with surprise and relief.

Abby greeted them the second Bobby parked the truck at the curb. Dean rolled down his window and gave Sam's surrogate mother a weary smile.

"Dean!" she laid a hand on his face. "Oh, Lord, are you alright?"

"Yeah," Dean's eyes shined.

She turned from him as Mike strolled outside. Abby caught Dean's eyes again. "Don't move Mas-uh-your brother until Mike gets out here."

Dean wrinkled his brows with puzzlement. Marco whimpered and glanced from Dean to Bobby as the older hunter climbed out his side.

Mike's large hands snapped at the rottweiler. "Marco," he commanded, "go to the door." Mike pointed out and the dog obeyed. The officer met Dean's eyes and he raised a thick grey brow. "You up to heavy-lifting, son?" he asked.

"Heavy lifting?" Dean flinched when Abby reached through the window and gave Sam a shot. Dean squinched his face with confusion.

"Mason," Mike answered. "We'll have to carry him in-"

"Why not just wake him up-"

"Noo," Abby argued. "We always leave Mason sleeping whenever we can."

Dean's brows bounced with a shrug. "Ohhhkay."

They tugged Sam out and carried him upstairs to his own room. Abby had the bed ready, the curtains drawn and music playing softly. Mike tugged Sam's shoes off and tugged at the blankets. Dean and Bobby silently watched from the doorway while Abby administered a tranquilizer and gave him a shot of medication.

She gently kissed Sam's brow then shooed the other three men out the room. As they descended the stairs, Roxi padded up and avoided Dean's puzzled stare.

Abby shuffled around the kitchen and prepared a meal for the men as they gathered around the table. Mike checked his cell phone then clicked it away. Satisfied, he laced his fingers and leaned over, his eyes taking a critical stare into Dean. "Abby tells me you think Mason is your brother." His voice contained no malice but his expression spoke on a business level.

Dean winced under the policeman's scrutinizing gaze. He reached for his absent amulet before summoning the courage to meet Mike eye to eye. "Sam. His name is Sam. He's been gone for five years."

Mike sat straight when his wife placed a glass of iced tea in front. "He's one of the lucky few, Mister Winchester. No one walks from the kind of car crash he was involved in." he paused for a sip. "Crazy thing is, that pile-on hasn't been the only episode we've seen this month. And in each case, there's always been one or two people who walked away, unscathed and minus a memory."

All three men sat back as Abby set plates piled with fried chicken, french fries and baked carrots. She set a fourth plate and sat at the end between Dean and Mike.

Bobby eyeballed Mike with consternation. "Just how many accidents are we talking here?"

Mike dove into his carrots and washed them down with tea. "So far 'cross the country, there's been seventeen. As many as two people have walked, scott-and-booboo-free." Mike's eyes shot between Bobby and Dean. "Three more have occurred in the last three months. Investigators have put a lid on the cases. Never know what stories the wacko rummer mills might invent." Mike paused a beat, "speaking of which, Abby tells me the two of you are hunters."

Dean lifted a finger and stuffed his mouth at the same time: "Retired," he reiterated.

Bobby appreciated the smile in Mike's eyes. Both men knew better. Mike thoughtfully masticated a piece of chicken. He nodded and drank more tea. "Well, I can tell you, Dean, hang around here much longer and you'll be sucked back into it. Just like Abby's cousin, Camila and the wack-job, her partner, Alex. Either that or maybe you're just trying to fool yourself into thinking that you left it at all. The supernatural isn't just a part of you; you're a part of it."

Dean's phone called his attention and tossing a grin at his company, he excused himself from the table. "Hey, Babe," he said to Lisa as he stepped out the front porch."

"_Dean? Is everything okay? Are you okay?"_

Dean drew a deep and difficult breath. "I'm... I'm doing okay."

"_Dean?"_

"I-I found Sam... Lisa. He's here, somehow. I don't know how." Dean wish he knew what was bound to happen in the next twenty-four hours.

"_My gawd,_" Lisa whispered. "_Well... Hon, the garage called. That boss of yours is a dick."_

"Probably an angel, then," Dean muttered.

"_What?"_

"Nothin'. Hey, do you... do you think it'd be okay to let Sammy stay with us for a couple of days?" Dean leaned against the porch support beam and stared into nothing. Where did that come from? Why was there a sudden need to... Dean winced. _Please, Lisa_, he thought, _don't make me choose._

"_Well... we'd have to sleep on the couch-or I'd sleep on the couch, Sam could take the bed."_

"I am not sleeping with him," Dean instantly objected.

"_No, you'd be in the doghouse, Dean Winchester. Serves you right for not calling me earlier."_

Dean grinned like an idiot. She used his full name. "I'm sorry about the job, Lisa."

"W_ell, I know you hated it, anyway. There's always Walmart."_

Dean shook his head. "Yeah. I'll give that some serious thought. Let me call you tonight, okay?"

"_Dean?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Please be careful. Your world is frightening and I'd like you to come home in one piece."_

Dean blinked. He wanted to remind her that he was domesticated now, nothing to worry about. He wished Lisa a sweet good-bye and felt better about the situation, even if it was crazy and confusing. He had her support. That being the case, he felt very pretty sure she'd take right to Sam.

"Is everything alright?" Abby asked as Dean returned to the table.

"Oh yeah," Dean smiled easily. "Little domestic spat, you know. Piece of cake compared to dealing with a rabid shape shifter."

Mike lined his lips and nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to part ways here, Dean, Bobby. I need to see to that orchard of ours." he kissed Abby and grabbed his keys.

"Don't you go climbing anything!" Abby playfully scolded. "I am not going to call the fire department to let them know an old man is stuck up in a tree and can't get down!" Mike swept up a baseball cap and muttered something as he let himself out. Abby shook her head and picked up the table.

Dean stood and picked up all the drinking glasses and put them in the sink. "You guys own an orchard?"

"Two of them actually. A small family inheritance. Mike loves to work out there by himself. It lets him grouch out, as he calls it, without being grumpy around me."

Roxi's piercing bark alarmed Abby from upstairs just before they heard Sam scream. Dean shot up the steps, quickly followed by Abby. Roxi met Dean with a soft whimper. Dean found Sam spread across the bed, eyes open, gasping for breath, staring into nothing. Abby squeezed by and knelt at the bedside as Bobby caught up and hung in the doorway.

"Mason?" she called. "Hon, you're home. Mason?" she lapped his hand across his middle. Sam panted, pupils wild. His arms fell to his sides and he squeezed his eyes shut. Sam arched up, thrusting his chest into the air. He slid his head back so that his neck lay well exposed. He ground his teeth as though in a seizure. Abby withdrew, hands held up just in case.

Sam cried out again. He kicked up and slipped off the bedside. Abby called his name as he crawled until he clutched his head. Sam collapsed on his side and pitifully whimpered. Dean dropped to Sam's side as Abby produced a hypo.

"Dean," she called sharply, "don't touch him! He'll hit you."

Ignoring her warning, Dean wiped Sam's hair from his eyes with a feather-light touch. "Sammy," he whispered.

Sam wept and tightened into himself as much as he could. "Save me," he begged, "They're going to use the web! Someone save me!"

"Sam," Dean voiced barely above a whisper. He cringed when Abby pricked Sam with a tranquilizer. She meant well but Dean hurt seeing what she resorted to. "Sammy, you're not alone anymore... _Sammy..."_

As per his ingrained nature, Dean stayed with his brother while Abby and Bobby returned downstairs. Afternoon waned into evening. Dean dozed to the painfully slow, soft music Abby played for Sam. Dean reflected the weekend, wondering how his life could take such sharp corners in such record time. His Dad's death, Sammy's first death and on and on. Dean lived through more crap in the last several years than fifty people experienced during their entire life span.

What now? What corners were they turning? One thing was certain: that dark vacant spot in Dean's soul blissfully ebbed away with each passing hour. Sam was back in his life; alive even if he's not so well. Dean did not think anything else mattered.

Abby crept up the stairs and entered Sam's room bearing a plate of food and a tall glass of iced tea. she offered Dean dinner with a smile and examined her foster child, measuring his breaths with her ears, monitoring his face with her eyes. "You know he'll wake soon. I thought it'd be good for you to eat something now. It's going to be a rough night."

"Thanks," Dean lightly smiled and let his eyes feast on the steak on his plate first. Home made food. Always the best.

"Has he moved at all?"

"No," Dean replied around the food in his mouth, "But the music selection is enough to put anyone in a coma."

"George Winston won out of a selection of twenty-five genres," Abby defended. She counted with her fingers: "We tried the Beatles, Yanni, Tim Clement, White Snake, Johnny Cash, the Starlight Orchestra, Olivia Newton John, Frank Sinatra, Madonna, Googoo Dolls, Breaking Benjamin and Bon Jovi. But this stuff is what calms the beast." Her eyes lingered lovingly on Sam before she snapped to Dean. "Eat." and she left.

Dean ate in peace and honestly enjoyed it, although his worry for Sam inched up the big brother meter.

He paused with that thought and choked on the edge of tears. Dean has not been anybody's brother in five years. The vacant spot in his soul remembered Sam and Dean recalled laughing after he and Sam blew out the top portion of the mall.

They laughed and it felt wonderful.

He finished the iced tea half an hour before Abby returned with two cups of coffee. She dragged up a small chair, settled in it and waited with Dean.

"I can tell you have done this in the past," she said with a sip.

Dean hesitantly sipped his joe. "More often than I can count," he admitted. "Growing up it was just my dad, me and Sam. Dad worked all the time and it was... well, we moved around a lot, too. So we learned to depend on one another for a lot of things."

Abby nodded. "Your relationship with your brother defines part of who you are." Dean did not answer. Abby recognized the silence as admission that Dean Winchester did not easily reveal his soul. She switched subjects. "I-um-I wish I could understand Mas-er-Sam better. He's been somewhere, experienced something..."

Dean's gaze blurred. Flashes of fire, darkness, pain and solitude shot through his mind. Torture. Agony the likes of which no one on Earth could comprehend existed in Hell. Before he started falling into the spiral of fear and flashbacks, Dean reminded himself that he'd never see Hell again. Neither would Sam. He batted his eyes, refocusing on the moment. "Abby, how often does Sam talk about the web?"

She averted her eyes right, thinking hard. With a shake of her head, she made a guess: "When he's 'under'? Fairly often. And I'm frustrated because I can't get him to talk about it afterward. He either denies he mentioned it or just clams up." The teacher scowled sadly. "I've never known anyone so capable of holding in pain like him. It tears me up. He's very sensitive and I know whatever he's been through he'll carry that for the rest of his life."

Dean turned away and swallowed the brick in his throat.

Abby spoke again, but Dean did not meet her gaze. "I'm guessing you might know what it is." she watched him dip his chin, eyes remained averted. "Please," she said softly, "tell me."

Dean shook his head. "No, Abby. Don't ask me that."

"Why? Was it something that happened in his childhood? What do you know about it?"

"Abby..." Dean managed to keep tears off his face. "Don't."

"Why? Don't you want him to get help?"

Dean cast his eyes on Sam, his emotions kept carefully locked away. "Where Sam and I have been and what we've been through, there is no therapy, no medication, no amount of counseling that can help."

Abby fixated her stare on Dean Winchester. "Then tell me about the web and I will not ask another thing."

Dean faced her, his eyes dark and intense. "No. Something like that is not open for discussion especially in front of Sam."

Dean took to his feet and sat beside his brother and hoped Abby would not ask again. He recalled when Sam begged him to talk about his time in Hell. Dean figured Sam wanted to paste a band-aid over the forty year stint. But later Dean realized Sam wasn't trying to fix him so much as he just wanted to understand. But what was there to understand? How can you express agony and hopelessness that ran so deep into the soul there was no language for it? Hell seared all sense of innocence from Dean's soul. Hell sucked all the love and joy out of him. Hell turned his soul into a dry husk. His recovery has been agonizingly slow.

And the trip through Zachariah's idea of heaven didn't help matters _at all_. Dean wondered if he'd ever feel empathy for anyone again.

"I need to call Lisa." He excused himself from the house and stepped outside.

"_There you are! Is everything okay? When do you think you'll be bac_k? _Are you still bringing Sam home with you?"_

It was good to hear Lisa's soft, firm voice. Dean leaned against the wooden porch support again and stared at the yard. "I wish I could tell you everything that's going on." he admitted.

"_Then why don't you? Do you think I'm the reincarnation of the Boogeyman and that I'm going to slice you up and eat you for telling me something about your life?"_

Dean grinned and suddenly felt better. He sat on the steps and watched Marco as she rolled in the grass, playfully growling. "Okay," Dean took the gamble. "Bobby and I went to Washington Island yesterday..."

Sam sat up in bed, eating a small dish of ice cream when Dean returned. Abby sat in the cozy chair, facing him. A clipboard and short pile of student homework lay across her lap. Sam greeted Dean with a light smile and looked okay, but his eyes held a dark hue. Dean offered his little brother a large smile and to his utter surprise, Sam threw him a very toothy smile.

Dean struggled not to wince. That was way out of Sam's character. Toothy grins were not a part of Sammy's usual moody personality.

It was kinda creepy.

"Would you like a dish of ice cream, Dean?" Abby offered.

"Uh, no thanks. I'm good."

Sam stared straight at Abby. "He likes munchies and crunchies. Like the itty bitty bones you'd find with canned sardine." Sam's left brow bounced once. "Never good on ice cream."

Abby pinned him behind her glasses. "Eat your ice cream."

Sam's expression remained solid on Abby. A barely suppressed smile teetered on his lips, his eyes backlit with mischief. "I've been warned not to freak you out, Dean. So if I do, you'll have to tattle on me."

Abby kept her expression neutral. "You left without saying anything to anyone. You did not take Marco or Roxi with you. I am unhappy that you endangered yourself. You told Camila you were not going to chase the Informant but you did so anyway. You promised me you would be careful."

Sam's eyes dropped as he frowned. "I'd say sorry, Abby, but 'Sorry' only says I screwed up and didn't mean to." he met her eyes without remorse. "I intentionally left. I knew better. So rightfully, I shouldn't apologize."

"I want you to apologize for making me worry, Sam-um, Mas-Sam," Abby stuttered. "I know you left intentionally. But I want an apology anyway for neglecting how I'd feel about it. I worry for you."

Dean read something in Sam's face Abby did not catch: fleeting thoughts; things Sam wanted to say but could not. How often had Dean committed the same offense? All those months during Sam's addiction, Dean recalled mentally shutting his brother out. His own hell-made mental illness allowed for nothing other than business at hand. So to cope with lingering horrors and relentless nightmares, Dean did all he could to move past those unholy memories of torture. Screwed and derailed, ripe for angelic/demonic manipulation, even Sam's heartache found no sympathy in the hollow of Dean's heart. He had nothing to give Sam. And therefore, Dean never apologized for his coldness. He meant everything he did and said.

The price for that was their bond. Yes, Sam had his sins to account for, too. But all relationships were a two-way street. Their communication lines lay broken. Dean's trip to hell started a cascade of events; events that spiraled out of control. Sam's fall eventuated into Sam's death and destroyed Dean's world. Dean vowed to never trust angels again.

"You're right, Abby," Sam admitted, "I wasn't thinking how you'd feel and for that, I'm sorry."

Abby smiled and patted Sam's leg. She removed her school papers and with a glance at Dean, left the room. Awkward silence followed while George Winston's music filtered the dead space.

Dean nodded at the stereo. "George Winston, Sam?"

A tired smile-an honest smile-lifted Sam's cheeks. "I tried 'Strange Cargo' for a while. 'Everly Brothers', 'Disturbed', 'Linkin Park'. Even tried a little 'Type O Negative'. Bad idea. What time is it?"

Dean skimmed the room and peeked at the clock. "Eleven. You plan to go back to sleep?"

"Sleep is relative in my case, Dean."

"No doubt."

"How long do you plan to stay?"

"I don't know." Thumbing his pockets, Dean paced. He read book titles off the nearby shelf and stared at photos of Sam and Camila and Sam and Abby and Abby and Mike at Christmas. Another photo contained Roxi and Marco. "You know, Sam, I'd like to take you with me to Indiana for a few days."

Sam studied his new-found big brother; Dean read confusion in those hazel eyes and realized if he hoped to get anywhere, he'd have to take the initiative. "Look, Sam, I know this is a lot to take in. We don't have to rush into anything. I can come back in a week or two. We can stay in touch over the phone or something-"

"Didn't Abby say anything to you, Dean? Didn't she tell you about me?"

"She told me you're on medication. You've got good days and bad days-"

"Never-Never Land isn't what I'd classify as a simple bad day, Dean." Sam stared at the window to his right. The window hung open, barred with a grid, paddle locked as a precaution. His hazel eyes turned hard and he shifted that sharp expression to Dean. "You traveled a hundred miles to say '_Hi, Dork, I'm your brother!_' and now... I don't know what to do with it." Roxi whined and pawed Sam's hand. He mindlessly petted her, his expression remained serious. "You have a life in a whole other reality. And here you come, '_Hello, freak, I'm from Planet Earth. By some unknown means, you're related to me._' and honestly, Dean, _you couldn't handle me."_

"Is that so?" Dean coldly returned as Sam got out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans. Roxi stood on the bed and shook her head. She whimpered louder as Sam slipped on a button-down shirt, a pair of socks and his sneakers.

"Well, breaking news here, little bro, I _raised you_. And I pinned you back at the mall. That means I can still whip-what the hell are you doing?" Dean tried to see beyond Sam's shaggy hair concealing his eyes. Roxi barked sharply.

Sam avoided Dean's eyes as he picked the paddle lock on the window. "It's too nice a night to stay cooped up in here." Sam hopped on the window sill, turned back to Dean with a smile and a mischievous glint in his black, black eyes. "Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me; I'm Sam I Am."

And with that, Sam dove off the window ledge. Roxi excitedly barked after.


	7. Intercedence

**A/N** Not beta'd. A little language here, for the sensitive. Sorry it's taking time between chapters... just doing all kinds of stuff. :D I'd love to thank everyone for faving and subscribing to this fanfic! What a guilty pleasure. ^-^

Intercedence

Dean tapped down three steps before jumping the stairway safety rail. He met Abby as Roxi pattered down to the kitchen.

"Sam's gone. Out the window."

Abby, face minus surprise, nodded. "Of course he did. And you watched as he dressed."

Dean did not argue. He aimed straight for his duffel, hoping not to wake Mike or Bobby. He took out a hand gun he borrowed from Bobby and checked the load.

Abby leaned against the doorframe, a hypo in hand.

"You're going to need this, Dean."

"I am not drugging my own brother."

"It's a precautionary measure, Dean."

Dean's eyes hardened. "I can handle Sam."

Abby silently laughed. "No, you can't."

"Why is everyone telling me the same thing? 'Go home, Dean, live your life.' or 'you don't want this responsibility,' and now it's 'you can't handle Sam'."

Abby tilted her head. "Oh, is that what he told you?" Dean shot a frown at the ceiling. Abby protruded her lower lip and nodded. "You can certainly be bullheaded when you want to be." she put the hypo in Dean's pocket and pasted her gaze into his. "You'd better get going. Marco has already taken off."

Dean plucked up his cell phone. "Cinderella needs rescuing. Don't wait up for us."

Dean jogged after Marco as Rottie-X trotted along the sidewalk. Lightning flickered in the distance. But thunder did not echo its presence. Lights from town illuminated low hanging clouds. Dean smelled ozone.

Marco barked once, joyfully catching up to Dean's wayward brother. He caught up to Sam's long strides and waited several steps to be noticed.

"What? Not talkin' to me, Sam?"

Sam froze and Dean caught a wild glint in his brother's eye. "You stay away from me, Dean Winchester. You're nothing but trouble. I'm twenty-four minus medication and because of you, the rooftop on Washington Island Mall lies in make-believe toothpicks. Know what that means?"

"Uh, maybe-"

"Emails, Dean. Millions of them. From all over the continent. Every damned hunter is going to send me an email asking stupid questions. And I _hate_ stupid questions."

"Whoa, easy there, Sammy, it's not that-"

"Don't you _Sammy_ me, buster. My reputation is ruined. Worse yet, _Camila_ is going to come back. Have you met Camila?"

Dean's brain scrambled to catch up to Sam's new mood swing. Lightning along the horizon flickered closer to town. Dean tried to play it cool. "Wha-you're afraid of her or something?"

"You could say that. But then, you've never seen her beat the crap out of Alex."

Dean blinked. "Okay." Sam walked on, hands in jean pockets. Marco panted excitedly and pranced around him. "Sam," he called, "I can't just let you walk out in public like this. How about you and me head back to the Bat cave and watch some bad TV?" when Sam refused to answer, Dean sprinted and tagged man and dog as they crossed the street. Just another block away lay several businesses; two of which were nightclub/bar. Probably not the best place to be infiltrated by the emotionally unstable.

Dean blocked Sam's path and laid hands on his chest. "Sam, Sam, Sam! Just, just wait a minute, okay? You're upset over something. How about we head back to Abby's and find something cold to drink? This isn't-"

Sam looked cross. "You don't need to worry about me, Dean. I'm not going to do anything overly stupid. I'm a Shirley Temple kinda guy. I just want to play some pool. Okay?"

Dean held his temper in check. Sam's irrational mind was just as stubborn as his thinking cap. "Sam," he attempted again, "you've had a rough day. I mean-"

Sam leaned toward him, his voice soft. "I have to learn to suck it up, Dean. _Suck it up and move on. The darkness feeds on the weak."_

Those were their dad's words. Dean could not swallow. "Yeah, well... a meltdown isn't something you should take lightly. I mean, it's not like a booboo or an owie, Sam."

Sam smiled and tossed his eyes to the sky. He dropped them back to Dean. The smile lacked genuine amusement. "I've taken a one-way trip to the sanitarium, Dean. Keep following me and you'll end up there, too."

Dean sighed heavily, swiping his hair, thumbing his pockets. Sam pressed on, aiming for a shopping center two blocks off. Winchester recalled what Abby said; that he owed Sam nothing. He did not have to feel responsible for his little brother. He also remembered the alternate life Zachariah stuck him and Sam in where they worked at a white collar job. Sam could have connected to anyone else. But it was Dean.

As if on cue, Sam paused in his journey, turned and gazed at his older brother. Marco beside him sat and kick-scratched an ear before she sneezed. She dropped the act and followed Sam as he trailed back to Dean.

A moment of awkwardness passed between them while Sam summoned his courage to speak. "I'm sorry. I never seem to take into account how you might feel about it. But I can't understand why."

"Why what?" Dean tried to read Sam's face and posture, tried to read what lurked behind his shifting eyes.

"Why you care so much."

Dean shrugged. "You're my brother. Told you that already."

Sam's eyes drifted off, half rolling as he nodded. "Right. As if it were the norm for all siblings to stick together like a married couple."

"Wow..." Dean's cheeks flushed and he was very grateful for the cover of dark. "Well, the good news, Sam, is that we're _not married_. Okay? So you can relax about that. But you're also my partner... as in hunting. Or-were-"

Dean cut himself off as they and Marco spotted a strange flicker of light cross the sky. The rooftop of a nearby house caved in for no apparent reason. Shingles shot in all directions and littered the street. Then the sidewalk crumbled in four places as though huge, massively heavy feet landed with a punch. Marco growled and sprinted off. With one glance at each other, Dean and Sam followed as she tracked the invisible force. Actually, they didn't quite need Marco to pursue their target. Potholes in sidewalks, craters in the grass and damaged trees made enough a trail. But then Marco lost the scent at the same shopping center Sam aimed for.

"Sonofabitch," Dean scanned the center, hoping to find crushed cars without bodies. Did the thing just dissipate or something?

Nah. They were never that lucky.

"Marco!" Sam called, "get back here!" Sam followed his rottweiler and Dean followed Sam. They passed several closed stores before finding an all-night supermarket. Marco paused once, sniffed until she found just the right spot and peed. "Hey!" Sam caught up to the mut and waited for Dean.

"Mason!"

The familiar feminine voice echoed across the court and Sam forced a smile as Camila tapped up to him followed by a pair of chumps dressed like suburban safari hunters. Now that he thought of that, Sam believed they were, in fact, hunters. Sam flinched when Dean caught up and laid a warm, strong hand on his shoulder.

"Well, well, fancy meeting you here, Camila," Dean greeted smoothly. "Out for a romantic threesome stroll in the middle of a summer night?"

"We spotted signs of activity."

Dean nodded and waved his finger between the two men on either side of Camila. "By 'we', you mean Flintstone and Rubble here?"

Camila managed a half-glare, half-smile. Her white hair swept over her shoulders like strands of loose silk. The lady hunter pointed left: "this is Dakota Grazton and his partner, Wes Stanner." her eyes bounced from one grim hunter to the other, "Guys, this is my cousin's foundling, Mason. He's my contact up here. And the comedian wannabe is Dean Winchester."

Dakota offered a handshake in greeting first. His lips lifted in a light smile. "We were going to stop by Mike and Abby's tomorrow to talk with Mason. Maybe we can spare Abby the pain and suffering of more bodies in the house by taking our conversation elsewhere."

Dean plastered on a healthy smile. "Sounds great. Let's find a place to eat. You hungry?" A wonderful warm feeling blanketed Dean's heart when Sam smiled. His eyes lit with internal laughter.

"The Cookie Monster hasn't eaten in four whole hours."

Wes slightly twisted left and pointed a thumb behind him. "There's _Graphter's_ just round the corner. They have a pretty good menu there. Even Camila likes it."

Dean grinned the moment they walked into _Graphter's Bar and Grill_. Dakota, Camila and Sam bypassed the line of customers crowding the bar and the leggy waitress. Wes took up a booth closest to a window.

Dakota and Sam sat inside, Dean and Camila sat at the outer edges while Wes hauled up a chair and took the table ledge. Dean pretended not to notice when three chairs moved by themselves at the back side toward the restrooms. Marco wasn't about to sit tight and wait outside.

The all-legs brunette waitress approached and smiled sweetly at Dean. "You guys hungry?" she asked in a polite voice. Even Sam stared before ordering. "Peach Shirley for me, please. Toasted cheese with olives and pickles." he watched two college kids, a trio of rough-and-tumble guys and two tough chics sport a tense game of pool.

"Sir?" the brunette asked Dean.

"Uh... lite... whatever. Bacon-cheese and fries." he gave her his best puppy expression and enjoyed watching her blush. She turned to Dakota who ordered a duplicate of Dean's menu. Camila asked for a hot fudge sundae while Wes asked for a plate of nachos.

The young waitress walked off and Dean set his gaze on his brother. _Holy crap, _he thought, _when was the last time I did something like this with Sam?_

Years?

His heart sank. Five years of their lives; stolen by the apocalypse.

Hearty laughter boiled from the trio of bold baddies as one scrawny college boy tried his luck at a good break. The kid's nervous smile said he was about to lose his pants. Eyeing the trio of older, tougher men, Dean immediately pegged them as hunters. He spotted the pocket outlines of knives, flasks and tattoos, just out of sight, plastered on the side of their necks. He was not quite so certain about the ladies, but they didn't exactly look pansy.

The waitress returned with drinks and extra water in hand. Dean paid no attention to her smile, but Sam's grin made her nervous. He nodded toward the hunters.

"Regulars or friends?"

She gave him an unamused smile. "Strays."

Dakota broke the silence with a long sip of his light beer. "So! Dean Winchester... as in John Winchester's son?"

Dean nodded, "Guilty, as charged."

"Wow. Your dad was the only one who managed to crack the ring of poltergeists in Texarcana back in '92. Three other guys tried to break that up. All three ended up in a funeral pyre."

Dean shrugged, never knowing anything about that job. But then, his father kept his work out of the boys' earshot until they were older. "I was pretty young at the time."

Dakota nodded. "So was I. I didn't hear about it until I met the girl he rescued. She moved to Garden City, Kansas." he paused to read Dean's reaction. But Dean knew how to keep emotion off his features. Dakota produced a piece of parchment from his vest pocket. "I uh, I didn't make any connections-'cept that I'm surprised to meet you here. The girl herself ended up possessed about three months ago. Wes and me usually collect stuff after a hunt; drawings, writings, scribbles, whatever is left behind." Dakota nodded toward Sam. "And we knew that Camila knew you, Mason, that you were working on the Water Gates case."

Dakota handed Sam the fragile parchment with a slight smile. The hunter shrugged. "Wes and me couldn't find anybody that could read this. So, we thought we'd see if you could. Don't know how old it is.

Sam unfolded the parchment. "What makes you think this has anything to do with the Water Gates?"

"Cuz that was one of the last things the girl told us after the demon took a long walk home. She said the Water Gates are open." Dakota shrugged again. "That and the person who she said might have the key, unfortunately, is long since dead. Kinda... I dunno. Well, anyway, there you are."

Dean tilted his head, puzzled. "You said she said the only person who might have the key to the Water Gates is dead?"

Wes spoke up this time. "No, the person she mentioned is dead. You know who it is, Dean."

Dean shook his head and Dakota answered the unspoken question: "yer brother, Dean. She specifically-well, the demon, anyway, specifically said Sam Winchester."

Dean rubbed his eyes then wiped his face. He found sympathy in their faces and drew a deep breath. _Sam_ pretended to pay no attention. But Dean did not miss how Sam made it look unintentional when his arm rested against Dean's as he scrutinized the parchment.

Dakota nodded at the parchment. "I don't know if that'll help."

Sam popped his neck and Dakota cringed. "It's going on about the damned father-son thing again. No idea what it's talking about."

"Well, I have another question for you, Mason." Dakota announced. "Have you heard anything about the Washington Island Mall?"

Dean looked at the parchment then at Dakota, keeping his face as blank as possible. _Mason _did not look up from the paper at all. "No," he muttered. "People seeing stuff in the lingerie stores or something?"

Wes snorted. "Not quite. The mall's entire roof blew out and caved in later. They got cops crawling over the place like a nest of pissed fire ants."

Sam leaned, chin in hand, elbow on the table. "Hm. Did they find anything suspicious?"

Dakota shrugged. "Dead bodies." he waited for a reply then frowned.

"What's your next job?" Sam asked. Weariness beat him down and he leaned over the parchment.

Dakota shrugged. "Demon activity in St. Louis. There's already three people there, but our sources say it's rampant. Bleeding walls, possession at an unbelievable rate, machines going haywire. But there's also sightings in Utah. Take your pick."

Sam blinked once and simply stared at the paper. Dean watched him intently, worried that his brother might be zoning. But Sam recovered with a deep breath. "Isn't there an archway in St. Louis?"

Camila smiled. "The Gateway Arch. Six hundred and thirty feet high. One of the dumbest things humans have built-other than the stone face in France where water runs out its nose."

Sam nodded, his forehead wrinkled, "There's also a natural archway in Utah. Uh... the Delicate Arch. Where in Utah were you guys headed?"

Dakota dropped his mouth. "Um, Moab... actually."

Sam almost mentioned that the Delicate Arch was near Moab but Marco set off an alarm with her piercing bark. All conversations and movement dropped dead.

The bartender smacked the counter with a wet rag. "Alright, who brought the damned dog?"

The north wall buckled with an impact from the outside. Drywall cracked, framed pictures dropped. Two women screamed. Plaster and debris floured the floor. Several lights showered people with sparks and died. Handguns cracked the air as self-appointed warriors attacked an invisible foe. But Marco, still invisible herself, tackled the intruder with deep-throated growls and sharp barks.

Dean held his breath as Camila, Dakota and Wes jumped to their feet, concealed weapons drawn. Seven other men did the same; producing either guns or hunting knives.

Camila turned from the fight and tugged Dean's sleeve. "Get Mason _out of here!_"

Before he moved, Dean and Camila flinched as the doors blew open. In stepped two men wearing black trench coats as though they just walked off the _Matrix_ movies. They held up crossbows made either of crystal.

Angels, Dean instantly realized. He slid off the seat and he and Camila bowed over and covered their ears. The entity bellowed a terrible low-frequency growl, blowing out window, mirrors, glassware and bottles. Dean checked Sam who lay on the seat, covered in glass fragments. Dean half dragged his brother as he and Camila ran for the exit.

People screamed, scrambled and shouted as holy light shot into the beast. The monster wailed clear and piercing. Flames spewed from its mouth, grilling several people with a wide sweep. The fire caught hold and cooked the building. People poured from every adjacent building while alarms blared. Smoke puffed out all entrances, leaked out windows and streamed from ventilation gaps.

Dean was not going to risk Sam's life over Clash of the Titans. They dashed across the parking lot as city and county emergency vehicles raced to the rescue. No sooner did the first fire truck pass the parking entrance than the vehicles all died. The sirens ran out of energy. All street lights and business signs blacked out and the sky bloomed into an ugly red-brown color.

An unearthly shriek, bone-chilling, and guttural, erupted from the bar-monster's throat. The multi-leveled screech forced Dean and Sam to their knees as flashbacks rendered them momentarily frozen. Camila produced her handgun as two figures emerged from the smoke-enveloped building. She lowered her weapon, relieved as Dakota and Wes came into view.

Wes reloaded his gun, his thin lips lined in a frown. "I think those two guys were angels. God, never seen fire like that."

The building crumbled outward and the creature's form glowed fiery-hot against the night sky. The half dog, half ram beast snapped a spiked tail. Ram's horns curled round either side of its head.

Dean and Sam both stared, baffled and transfixed as the fire-beast's head split asunder, one head, now two. The beast's right-sided head howled at the sky. The second head scooped up fire victims and devoured them in flame and blood.

Camila gripped Dean's jacket. "We can't stay here!" but she received no answer. Mind-locked, Dean relived horrors unuttered by human lips. That thing, that abomination was not supposed to be here. Memories flooded every facet of Dean's mind, leaving him incapacitated. He was not aware of Sam's similar catatonic state. He did not hear Camila tell Wes and Dakota to grab _Mason_. He did not feel her drape his arm across her shoulders and lead him across the road to a safer distance. He did not hear or see anything other than screams, torment, eternal darkness, emotional isolation and fire.

After Dakota and Wes laid Sam on the grass, he helped Camila do the same for Dean. The three hunters lifted their heads to the sky and lost their breath as a shimmering disk plunged from above like a comet and smote the beast in a blaze of blue holy fire. They hid their eyes as the blinding light bleached the world.


	8. Measurement

A/N: Ahh, fun chapter here-some h/c here, a little dream there... angels vs dragons -oops, can't say any more! :D

Measurement

_John's face creased with sore disappointment. "Dean, what the __**hell**__?" _

_Dean stood after caring for his little brother. He searched his father's face for a glimmer of understanding. "Sammy fell down. I was just helping-"_

"_It's great that you want to help him, son. But Sam will have to learn to take care of himself. You cannot always be there for him." _

_Dean could look at neither his father or brother. Sammy was only eight years old. True, that was when Dean started learning all the basic skills for hunting. But Sammy was not like Dean. The boy cringed as his father raised his voice._

"_Suck it up, Samuel Winchester and get up!"_

Under John Winchester's careful militarized upbringing, his sons learned to defend themselves, to survive and bury their pain. They learned to suppress their emotions and how to smile in spite of their shattered souls. Dean tried to reverse that programing for Sammy. He tried to allow Sam to grow up as humanly as possible. He constantly ran interference between John and Sam who never seemed to measure up, who couldn't take a blind order.

"_It's called being a good son!"_

It wasn't that Sam was such a bad son, but that John was not that great a father. Certainly he loved his sons, but he expected far more of them than they should have carried. Never mind that Dean never seemed to have aspirations of his own. Never mind that Sam suffered depression. Never mind that the boys never had a true sense of security or stability.

And for the record, it wasn't that Sam disobeyed John, but that he obeyed Dean.

Sam couldn't understand why Dean would not give up on him and just return to his own life. _"Why do you care so much? Why do you put up with me, a half-human, half-THING?"_

Dean's answer was the same, but it meant something different each time: "_you're my brother. My partner. My best friend. My son."_

_Sammy..._ the very name was like fresh, life-giving air. The one source of light in Dean's hell-darkened soul. Forty years of torment and horror beyond imagining rampaged through his mind like a rabid lion, tearing through bodies like a machete through paper. The screams and blood and burning. No amount of denial suppressed the evil memories.

Hell broke Dean Winchester.

And then Hell claimed his brother's life.

_Sammy..._ Dean choked as he came back to life. Tears bled from his eyes as he rolled to his side and heaved with unrelenting grief. Wasn't it Famine who said that Dean was dead inside?

_Asshole._

They all were, starting with Michael and ending with Luci.

"_Suck it up!"_ John Winchester's words bounced in Dean's skull; the family DI demanded the impossible from his young soldiers. _Fuck you_, Dean inwardly answered. _You go through Hell, lose everything, _come back _and let me know how you feel..._

But John Winchester did go to Hell. Not that he'd ever come back in this life, not that Dean and Sam would ever see their father again, but that wasn't the point. John lost it all too. But he certainly wasn't caught in the war between Heaven and Hell. He wasn't manipulated by demons and pushed by angels and pulled by an unwanted genetic heritage and appointed an Angel vessel and fated to start the end of the world.

Dean mentally spit his father's DI side in the eye, rolled over and faced the world. He did not fail. He and Sam were beaten like dogs, emotionally raped and tricked into doing and saying things they otherwise would never have said or done. But they survived.

Well... if one can call living with flashbacks, nightmares, PTSD, and in Sam's case, insanity, as survival, then yes, they survived.

"_Sammy..."_ Dean's voice grated in his own ears. He searched the sky above, finding the dark breaking into a pre-dawn sky, red and peach. Dean heard his name repeated in muffled tones. Gradually they cleared and he realized not only did he lie on soft, moist grass but someone sat next to him. Concern etched into the face of a middle-aged man who wore a heavy leather vest over a long sleeved flannel. An amulet hung from the man's neck and a small tattoo marked the left side of his neck.

"You back with us, Dean?"

"Sssamm..." Dean's voice slurred. A heavy hand landed on his left shoulder and gently shook him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about your brother, man. I know what it's like to lose someone that close. I know. Can you sit up, or do I have to call an ambulance?"

"No. Just... just give me a minute."

"Well, we may have to call an ambulance for Mason, anyway. He's completely shut down."

"Mason?" Dean's head churned. It was... Wednesday? Thursday? Something like that. Yeah. Not Hell. Not Stull Cemetery. _MaSoN._ He nearly choked again and pushed up, excited and fearful.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, Winchester. You'll hyperventilate."

Dakota. Yeah. Dakota, Wes and Camila. Dean's brain finally moved into reset and threaded one incident to another. He scanned their whereabouts for Marco but found nothing. "How's Sa-Mason?" he managed.

Camila produced her cell phone. "Not good. He's brain-locked." she stared at the eye of the flowering sky as it bloomed blood red. "Hi, Abby? No. No, no. We found both of them. Alex? He's in Sturgeon Bay doing research and hooking up with a friend of his. Yeah, Dean's more or less okay. Mason's locked up tight as a drum-well, we were going to call an ambul-ohhhh... I didn't know that. Okay. Yeah, we'll wait. But hurry. I don't want to get acquainted with the cops. They're still hot on my ass over the stint in Cottonwood."

Camila tucked her phone back in her pocket and offered Dean half a smile. She dropped her attention to Sam who lay flat on his back, eyes open and unblinking. She gently rubbed the center of his chest.

"_Come back to us,_" she whispered now and again.

Wes stood and lifted his jacket. Dean spotted the handgun hidden underneath. Wes met his eyes. "We got long-arm entertainment coming our way." he lifted the handgun and let it drop in front of Dean. "I'll see if I can stall them."

Two men in Blue approached the group. One spoke code into his radio, the other squared his sights first on Dakota, then Dean then took notice of Sam and Camila. "Hey there," he greeted casually. "You folks alright?"

"Yeah," Wes replied with ease. "Just waiting for a friend to pick us up."

"How's your friend there? Seems to be in shock."

Wes twisted toward Sam and lined his lips. "Nah. He's just had a little too much. Still trying to count the stars."

"Okay," the cop accepted. "But we'll have to ask you for your ID's and contact numbers in case we have questions later on."

Camila glanced at the road with measured apprehension. "Can you tell us what happened to the bar?"

The cop shook his head once. "You lived through it, Ma'am. You tell us."

The first officer took up his radio and coded in their whereabouts and the group; including Sam's assumed condition. Dean blinked with surprise when Castiel appeared behind the cops. With a spread of the angel's fingers, both officers passed out.

"Castiel!" Camila greeted.

"You know him?" Dean asked, mouth dropped in surprise.

"I'm sorry. No time for introductions or pleasantries." Castiel announced. "We have to leave. Now." Castiel knelt and laid a hand on Sam's head a moment before taking a glance at Camila. Dean heard Wes and Dakota ask about Castiel, but neither he nor Camila answered. Castiel gently gathered Sam in his arms and paused another moment as though to make sure Sam was more or less okay. The angel stood, cradling Dean's little brother in his arms.

A deep throated roar rolled through the air. Chilling and primal.

Camila choked as she stood. "My God, what was that?"

The angel gazed at Dean first, then Camila. "Dragons."

Dean blinked. Time slowed. The world appeared distorted. Colors shimmered, shifted and he blinked once again.

Now he, Camila and her two friends stood in Abby's living room. The poor woman startled with half a cry. Bobby flinched and dropped his keys.

Abby stood in front of Dean and Camila. "My Lord, how the hell-?"

"Castiel," Camila replied. She blinked, disoriented. "Where's Mason?"

Dean shuddered from sensory displacement and overload. He tried not to look alarmed but the minute Camila asked about _Sam_ Dean lost all composure and glanced around the living room, leaving Camila to explain things to Bobby, Abby and her companions

Dean rushed past Abby and clawed up the stairs before he took his next breath. He burst into Sam's bedroom as Castiel laid the young man on the bed. The angel turned to Dean with grave eyes.

"Your emotional suppression will kill you, Dean," he said quietly.

"That _thing_ in the bar-don't tell me that _thing_ we saw was-"

"A quadmur," Cas answered the unspoken question. "Yes. The very same."

"How the hell, Cas?"

"The Water Gates, Dean. They're not just gates, but a place where things are kept. The Water Gates are a prison separated from the rest of Hell. You should already know that."

Dean hardened his eyes. He constantly tried to stash any knowledge of Hades, Gahenna, Hell, whatever, into a forbidden compartment in his soul. And now he was forced to open that lock box and recall all the evil and anguish that existed there. "You said _dragons._" he whispered.

Castiel remained stoic. "Much of what Humans believe is ancient mythology are things that existed long before _written history_, Dean. Just because they're now depicted in fancy movies or ridiculous stories does not mean they never existed." Castiel threw his eyes to the ceiling and a second later, another tremble of thunder muttered along the sky. "If I thought Sam could handle it, I'd tell you to take your brother and leave for Indiana right now."

"What?"

Cas' deep blue eyes settled on Sam who had not moved once. "I recommend you give your brother at least a couple hours' rest. But don't delay, Dean. We're doing what we can to keep the fight in the sky. But we don't know for how long. You and Sam are too close to the Gate here in Wisconsin. And until Sam can solve the puzzle, figure out how to close the Gates, you're not safe. Neither of you. Now that Camila's friends know you have connections to Sam-to _Mason_-they're going to start asking questions regarding your behavior. And Alex-"

Just as Castiel said it, the doorbell chimed. The angel uncharacteristically rolled his eyes. "Right on schedule," he frowned. "Be very careful, Dean. Alex is not someone to mess with."

"And lemme guess," Dean snarled, "you're leaving."

"I won't be far." Cas leaned over Sam and whispered something to him in Enochian. Dean watched, perplexed as the angel kissed Sam's forehead then disappeared. The place where Cas' lips touched his brother left a fading white mark.

Castiel departed as Dean heard everyone's tone rise and fall downstairs. Let the chickens cluck on as they wanted. He was going to stay right here with Sam. As if to prove his point, Dean sat at the bedside. He recalled Sam mentioning the Web. Dean himself never experienced it; he'd been under Alistair's careful 'ministrations.' But he knew of its horrors. There were a billion ways to torture a person in hell; and you relive every one of them. There is neither death nor sleep.

They put Sam on the Web. Dean's heart tightened in grief. He felt old as his eyes lost focus and watered.

Movement at the door betrayed Roxi's presence. She entered the room, quiet on her feet, and approached Dean first. She 'kissed' his hands and when Dean did not respond, Roxi hopped onto Sam's bed and curled next to him.

"Dean?" Camila softly voiced from the doorway. "Is he okay? Is Mason okay?"

Dean forced his composure. He swiftly wiped his face, drew a great breath. "Yeah," his voice trembled enough to betray him. "Yeah. Cas-Castiel-" he stood and faced her. "How do you know Castiel, anyway?"

Camila slowly blinked. Her dry lips lined. "Long story in Chicago." she smiled sadly and nodded out the door. "Come on. I'd like for you to meet Alex."

Reluctantly leaving his brother-only for the moment-Dean joined the space cadets downstairs. Bobby caught his eye and Dean's surrogate father slightly nodded left where Wes and Dakota talked about the 'bar monster'. Dean pulled on a devil-may-care charade and threw Abby half a nod. She met him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sa-Mason: is he-?"

"Asleep, I think," Dean said into her ear. "Cas took him straight to bed." Dean caught his own words and shook his head. He gave Abby a cheesy smile and joined the huddle of hunters.

Wes smiled at him. "Good 'nuff, are you?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean replied smoothly. "But uh, I don't recommend using the bathroom for fifteen minutes. The deodorizer's working overtime. Hi there!" Dean gave an innocent smile to a 30-ish man bearing a sculptured five o'clock shadow on his face.

Batting her eyes for composure, Camila laid a hand on his arm. "Uh, Alex, this is Dean Winchester-"

"My God." Alex shook Dean's hand with a grip that meant he was not someone to underestimate. "I've heard a great deal about you. Uh, sorry about your brother. I know he was a great asset to our cause."

The sympathetic one-liner did not sound as genuine as Dean supposed it should have been. He saw right through Alex's charade and nodded. The light in his face died; lips pressed tightly together. "Yeah." he cleared his throat and wiped his face. Luckily, Camila took over as he fronted the inability to speak.

Dean's been retired for quite a while, now," she announced. "Living where, Dean? Rhode Island?"

He bounced his head, making sure he stared straight into Alex's eyes and kept all his 'tells' tucked away so that only Sam could have noticed he was lying.

Alex briefly studied him, washed-blue eyes measured Dean's physic and his posture. "What-uh, what exactly happened to your brother?" Alex's egotistical face turned to mild puzzlement.

Camila shot him a dirty look. "Alex!"

"Just making conversation. Don't get all bent up." Alex looked at her defensively and removed his camouflage cap to scratch a head topped with brown scruff. "So how goes it, Winchester? Heard about that run-in you had with Gordon Walker some years back... in New Orleans, wasn't it? What exactly happened to him that made you off such a good hunter?"

Dean measured Alex who stood a bit shorter than Sam with more bulk. "Gordon Walker?" he scoffed. "Well, aren't you a regular Dick Tracy?"

Camila's dark eyes turned just as hard as Dean's. "Alex, will you leave the poor man alone?"

"What? Didn't you know that Walker was on a madman's crusade to rid the world of all psychics? He swore on his mama's Bible that Sam Winchester was the AntiChrist. Isn't that right, Dean? I mean, how absurd is it that some bookworm wuss could be devil spawn?" Alex paused and chose to push the issue, looking for Dean's 'buttons'. "Or maybe it's not all that far-fetched. Not when they found _sea monsters_ in Hoover Dam." Alex's expression turned deadly. "Not all that far-fetched when a hunter encounters a demon who's all mouth and no brains, says stuff like Sam and Dean Winchester are _half breeds. _According to the freak I killed in Sturgeon Bay, the Winchesters aren't fully human. Something about Angelic DNA." Alex shrugged. "But hell, anything's possible. Information could be wrong. After all, we live in a world where vampires are a vanishing species and hellhounds really do exist."

Dean kept his expression solid and as unreadable as possible. He hoped Alex would shut his mouth; he'd hate to shut it for the punk. Dakota paid no attention. He busied himself with a map and his own hunting journal. Wes stared out the window, his face stressed with uncertainty.

Camila, on the other hand, looked ready to rip off Alex's head. Silent anger frosted her eyes and her hand clenched in a fist. If Alex noticed his partner's agitation, he did not show it.

Hoping that Alex was done with his monologue, Dean drew a deep breath and turned toward the kitchen.

"You know," Alex forced Dean to freeze with his addendum, "Someone opened the Water Gates. And what's crazy is the only type of person capable of such a feat would be a demon, a witch or a hunter. Speaking of which, Dean, opened any gates to hell lately?"

Alex didn't see it coming. And Dean did not think he still had it in him. The strike came swift and hard, the follow-through with his wrist made double sure Alex bled enough to remember his manners.

Dean stood over him while Dakota held Camila back. "For the record," Dean declared, "we didn't open the fucking gates. That privilege belongs to some dead sonofabitch named Jake Talley. And not so lucky for you, that scum sucking douchebag is long since dead. We clear on that?"

Alex hauled himself back to his feet. "No. Wanna try that again?"

Camila took a step toward the men. "Stop! Alex, enough. Just shut your-"

"Holy shit!" Wes' exclamation broke up the moment. He jerked open the door and stepped out. "HEY! You need to see this!"

Dakota, Bobby, Abby and Wes evacuated the house. Dean gave Alex his hell-glare before following Camila outside. The hard glow of dirty-yellow clouds lit the predawn sky. Abby whispered something in awe as the group witnessed a battle between intense bright shapes and ominous dark figures with great wings and long tails.

"By God," Wes muttered. "What are those things?"

No one answered him. Six mythical forms looped and zoomed around the lights until a bolt of lightning struck a winged creature. Thunder spread across the area initially in a gentle rumble. Then a crack shot through wood and concrete alike. The worst sonic strike came from the roar. The sound traveled deep into flesh, piercing nerves. Dean winced, his skin prickled as though frosted while shivers ran down his scalp and back. Camila flinched, covered her ears and squeezed her eyes tight. Abby leaned against the house in a daze while Wes and the other two men covered their ears.

Across the northeastern portion of Green Bay, traffic accidents smashed streets, bent road railings and one motorist drove right off an overpass. Pedestrians fainted as they walked to work. Cell phones crackled and spit static. TV reception flickered as paranormal EVP blipped across the screen.

From Abby's home, Dean witnessed the death of a creature old as time and myth. The dragon plunged and burned in the atmosphere, its smoking remains disintegrated into a rain of ash. A second dragon flew straight into the city and for several moments, it vanished and reappeared much closer, weaving between buildings and trees. A brilliant blue-white blaze followed its every move. The dragon effortlessly dipped closer to the ground until it came a few blocks too close to Abby's house. At that point, the creature lunged into the atmosphere, wings spread wide and strong. A comet of blue-white light struck the fell beast in a blaze of death. Again thunder cracked the air and left everyone's nerves rattled.

As soon as he recovered the moment, Dean turned to Bobby. He kept his voice low, emotionally controlled. "'Kay, we're out of here. I'll get..." he glanced at Abby's other visitors, daring not to speak Sam's name in front of them. "I'll get _us_ together."

In spite of his stone-faced expression, Bobby trembled from the shock. "Dean?"

"Cas."

Bobby nodded, understanding that Dean received advice from the angel.

Abby screamed first, joined by Camila and Wes. Dean turned as pair of dragons, half again the size of a large elephant, flew straight for the house. The beautiful iridescent colors shimmering along their wings, spikes and claws belied their deadly natures. The copper-and-black dragon advanced first, flying a mere three feet off the ground. It aimed for Dakota. He dropped when Wes called and fired his handgun. Dean ordered everyone inside and downstairs. Abby skittered first, followed by Alex and Bobby.

The copper dragon stood over Dakota and snorted. It curled its lips, revealing steel-bladed teeth. Wes stared into its fiery yellow eyes, his gun still pointed at it, bullets well spent.

"Dak, you hurt at all?"

"Not yet."

_CHANK!_ A knife smacked the beast's neck and bounced off. The dragon and both hunters caught Dean, frozen in throwing position. Camila inched toward him and she too froze when the copper dragon _laughed._

"_Shemah, Ben-ha-Elohim, destructus, elementae rot poparuskae."_

"I didn't know dragons could talk!" Wes exclaimed. "How can they communicate? They're just monsters!" None of them saw the dragon move. In the space of a thought, the dragon stood over Wes' fallen form, drooling on the hunter's chest.

"_Humanity unchanged by the last million years. Still the self-same sloppy life forms we've taken for pleasure and-"_

A streak of light slammed into the bragging beast. Its body flew and smashed the neighbor's garage. The copper recovered quickly and snapped its agile form into the air where it clashed with Castiel. Angel and dragon cracked the blacktop as Dakota and Wes rushed into the house. Camila hung at the doorway, breathless with awe.

"Camila!" Dean shouted. "Now!" he tugged, half watching as Castiel drew a glowing sword and sunk it into the copper beast. The blue dragon snarled and aimed for his back.

"CASTIEL!" Camila cried.

A lady angel appeared from thin air and shielded Cas from the onslaught. The copper dragon snapped as close to Castiel as it could while the angel swung and slashed the monster, slowly leading it further from the neighborhood. Infuriated, the blue dragon roared, and snapped at the girl, inching ever nearer.

Dean pulled Camila into the house and shut the door. "Downstairs. Now," he ordered.

"We can't leave Castiel out there-"

"Oh, right. Because we know how to kill dragons." Dean snapped. "They're _angels_, Camila. They can take care of themselves." he pushed her toward the basement then turned away.

"And where do you think you're going?" she challenged.

"S-Mason's upstairs." Dean kept his eyes steady in spite of his near mistake. She nodded in concession.

Dean realized he should be more concerned for the welfare of a good friend. But his thoughts weighed heavily over Sam. The hunter divorced himself from the world. So distracted by the dragon-angel fight, Dean did not think to see if his little brother was okay. He no longer felt safe. The natural laws regarding mythology, religion and the ordinary world ceased to exist.

Oh, wait, he was a Winchester. Natural laws did not apply anyway.

Dean slipped into Sam's room, leaving the hallway light on. But Sam was not in bed. Dean thought quickly. Bathroom? He darted out and right and, nope. The opened door only revealed a dark room. _Sonofabitch._ Dean rechecked the bedroom. The bed, just as rumpled as before, still held no Sam.

"Sam?" Dean called, "Sammy?" He returned to the hallway and dared a peek in Abby's bedroom. "Sam!" No. Not in Abby's master bath, either.

Walk-in closet?

Nope.

"Sam?"

Dean headed for the stairs to check the basement when he heard Roxi whine from Sam's room. Dean did an about-face. A black and white fur pattern peeked out Sam's closet. Dean peered through the dark, and found his brother, scrunched into a corner, trembling. Sam's locked gaze stared into nothing in front of him.

Dean lowered and met his brother's vacant expression. "You gotta work harder on your disappearing act, Sam. I keep finding you."

Tears tracked Sam's cheeks. He closed his eyes and made neither movement nor sound. His big brother settled before him and gently patted his knee.

"It's okay. Cas has everything under control outside. He's making minced meat pie about now."

Thunder boomed overhead and forced Sam to open his eyes. "No such thing," he whispered. "No such thing as a quadmur. But it was there. I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw it. I saw it."

"I know," Dean concurred. "You didn't imagine it. Me and Camila saw it too."

Tears followed more tears. "Help," Sam barely spoke. "Help me. I can't stop shaking." Sam whispered as though he did not acknowledge Dean. "I see all those deformed faces. So much abuse. They can't escape... the insane keep screaming. _And I'm not okay_. _I'm not okay!_" he softly wept and hid his face in his arm.

"Sam," Dean whispered. He kept his voice gentle, "Sam!" his brother spoke the very words Dean sought to express years ago. It wasn't right. Sam wasn't supposed to experience such atrocity. Dean choked with suppressed grief. This was what it cost them to save the world; a personal trip into Hell. Ever present torment and emotional isolation erased all hope for rest, happiness, joy or contentment. Hell was called Hell for a reason; it was more than just heat and flame; it was eternal torment.

Another shudder of thunder shook the skies and the song of emergency vehicles cried in the distance. Dean left Sam for the moment and peeked out the window, through the newly-locked bars. Daylight clothed the world in an eerie yellow haze patched and smeared with red-brown. Green Bay blazed hot as homes and sky scrapers smoldered under unquestionable dragon fire. And speaking of such, Dean spotted a dragon at the distance. Its great graceful wings lifted its body up before it dived and spewed liquid fire upon the masses.

Two bodies of light attacked it on either side. But they missed the beast when it shot upward. Its tail struck one angel while the other chased after. The dragon pulled back and a black flame projected from its eyes, striking the angel. Nothing happened for two seconds then a crack of thunder shook the whole house and cracked the window.

Startled, Dean jumped back and returned to his brother. Upon seeing Dean, Sam covered his face, bowed over and wept again. "Oh, God!" he whispered hoarsely. "God Help. They're going to rip me apart!" Sam gripped his hair. "Help!"

Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Sam, it's not real anymore. You're not there anymore; you're here with me."

Sam's head shot up and Dean suppressed his reaction as Sam's eyes completely blacked out, wild with panic. Roxi whined and licked his hand. "I can't listen to them scream anymore!" he started to hyperventilate, "Help me! Someone save me!"

"Hey. hey, Sam. Sammy? You're not by yourself in this. Can you hear me?" Dean tried to calm his brother by gripping his upper arms. When that failed, he took his brother's hands. Sam panted, held his breath, panted again, unable to express the building panic. He jerked, fighting against nonexistent chains.

"Shit," Dean cupped his hands around Sam's face but when he did so, Sam jerked away and viciously slammed his head against the wall behind him. Thund. Thund. Thund. He arched his back and Roxi barked sharply.

Dean leapt to get help when he remembered the tranquilizer. He popped the cap as Sam's constant banging bloodied the wall. Dean struggled to secure his arms around Sam's thrashing form. He hauled his brother out of the closet and pinned him with one knee to the chest and one hand holding Sam's free arm. Sam wept, wiggled and screamed, struggling with all his might as Dean emptied the hypo into his neck.

Losing the will to fight, Sam wilted into a helpless, sobbing mess. "I'm not the demon king, I'm not, I'm not!"

Dean sat against the foot of the bed, worn out and heart sick. He tugged Sam's prone form into his arms. "No, you're not," he answered softly. "You're just Sam Winchester, my little brother." Sam shuddered amid tears, his chest heaved, arms trembled. Dean held him more tightly. "Sh, sh, sh. I know, Sammy, I know," he mourned.

"Somebody save me," Sam's weepy voice faded as he succumbed to the drug.

**I'm guessing 14 pages is enough an update for you guys. Sorry this took so long; the battle needed work. 0.o**


	9. Escape

**A/N** I are EVIL! Mwhahahah! I have picked on Green Bay! Oh, woe to Green Bay! But hey, I've wiped out New Jersey in another fanfic, so I guess it was just Wisconsin's turn ;) Warning here for fluff scenes.

Escape

A soft warmth draped over his arms and shoulders. Dean quietly moaned and lifted heavy drowsy eyes. Camila scrunched before him and lightly smiled. Her brown eyes darted from him to a sleeping Marco and Roxi, both beside Dean.

"There you are," she greeted. "The world outside rocks with shock by events that blow the theory of evolution out of the water. And here Dean Winchester sits, his brother in his arms, both sleeping like a rock. You're so cute."

Dean grimaced, embarrassed someone found him in such a position. At first he tried to make the best of it with a smile. Then he realized what she just said. "How'd you know-who told you-"

Camila shrugged. "I figured it out when you two went for your midnight stroll. Don't worry, I won't say anything. I annoy the hell out of Mas-uh, Sam. I know I do. But I really care about him."

Dean unintentionally rubbed his cheek against his brother's long soft hair. "What time is it?" his voice, barely audible, almost cracked with use.

"Four hours after you came up here," Camila replied quietly. "Abby's chased everyone either to bed or out of the house so she and Mike can sleep. Dakota made Alex crash on the floor for a few hours. Alex wants to head to Nevada in two hours. So if you plan to leave without confrontation, now's the best time to do so."

Dean shook his head. "Not without..."

She nodded as though reading his mind, "I'm talking about getting _Sam_ out of here. So how about you pack a some of his clothes. I'll get his laptop and medicine."

Sam's sleepy voice muttered slow and sad. "'m not leaving."

In spite of his dead-to-the-world legs, Dean did not want to move. He no longer cared how Camila found him and Sam; he was glad to have his little brother there... needing him again. Dean kept his own voice low and soft. "Sam, I'm taking you to Indiana. Cas said we can't stay here."

Sam moaned again. "Sorry, Dean. Can't hear you over the jackhammer in my head." He drew two shallow breaths. "I am not leaving Marco and Roxi by themselves. Abby and Mike both work. There'd be nobody home to take care of them."

Dean slightly shrugged. "We'll bring them with us."

Sam opened his bleary, unfocused eyes. "Really? You won't mind?"

"Well, you'll have to ride in the trunk all the way to Indiana, but yeah." Sam closed his hazel eyes as a light smile revealed shallow dimples.

Marco and Roxi stirred as Camila stood with a deep breath. "We'd better hurry then."

"We?" both men chirped.

Camila's lips turned with amusement. "Um, yes. You and two dogs are not all going to fit in Bobby's truck. Now hurry before Alex comes to life."

Sam took a short shower to clean his wound. Dean gathered his duffel then bagged clothes and personals for his brother. Camila took care of the dogs and packed Sam's medication and left an encoded note for Abby in the coffee can. Sam silently descended into the basement and backed up files from both computers. He swept together paperwork, two filled notebooks, photographs, charts and three old books. He packed his laptop just as Dean tapped down to help out. He took the books and files and paused when Sam weakly smiled.

"I want to thank you for being there..." Sam swallowed hard and cast his eyes elsewhere to maintain composure. "I don't remember all of it-except the consolation prize on the back of my head." he had to swallow again, disgusted and ashamed of his behavior. "I guess they need to write a manual for dealing with freaks like me."

Dean wept inside. A long, long road to recovery waited for them. He laid a firm hand on his little brother's shoulder. "You know something, Sam," he said softly, "it just occurred to me how much I hate that word. And I don't wanna hear you call yourself that ever again. Got me?" Sam meekly nodded.

Camila waited for them at the basement door. She shushed them as they ascended and handed Dean the keys to her jeep. "Alex is in the bathroom," she whispered. "You two take off right now. Bobby and me will catch up. Go!"

Dean made sure Sam moved ahead of him just in case someone dashed out the door with a gun to their backs. They stepped to the great outside and gasped at the desolation surrounding them. Other than Abby's home, only three other houses remained standing. Everything else lay wasted, burned and broken.

Dean blinked and recovered enough to prod his brother to the driveway where Marco and Roxi waited for them in Camila's jeep. Sam tucked his laptop against the seat in front and he tapped Marco's nose as Dean set their gathered information in the back with Roxi.

"Sam. In. Now." he snapped his safety belt just as Alex came tearing out of the house. Sam closed the door as Alex laid his hands on the car. Dean slammed the car in reverse. He swung the jeep ninety degrees and sped off.

Alex ran hard. "WINCHESTER!"

Sam thought the man burst a lung. He winced at the daytime glare. "I hope he doesn't hurt Camila, Dean. Alex has an abusive temper."

"Were you kidding when you said that Camila kicked Alex's ass once?"

"Kidding? No."

"Did she leave a mark?"

Sam met his brother's expectant green eyes and lightly smiled. "She sent him to the doctor's office."

"Well, there ya go, Sammy. The girl can take care of herself."

Dean found the most direct route out of the Green Bay burbs and into the city's main road system. Traffic clamored across the highways like ants escaping a fire. Sam and Dean lost all words and expression as they took in the sights of a devastated city. Green Bay smoldered under heavy black smoke. Entire areas charred into nothing. Dragon fire melted cars, buildings and bridges. Sirens near and far mingled with helplessness and fear.

Dean clicked on the radio:

"_...still trying to confirm reports of things flying in the sky! The damage, the damage is unimaginable! Buildings on fire and the blacktop, a melting pool of ooze. Several eyewitnesses claimed to see things on wings:_

"_Yeah! I know nobody'll pay attention to me, but I know what I saw!"_

"_What? What did you see?"_

"_DRAGONS AND ANGELS! Fightin' up there, blowing each other t' hell! Dragons 'n Angels 'r real! We are so screwed!"_

"_Governor Natilis has declared a state of emergency and ordered all weather shelters open to the public. The national guard is due to arrive in the next four hours as thousands of motorists clog the highways, fleeing the city and county."_

Dean snapped the radio off. Sam wrapped his arms about himself and cast his sight out his window. Roxi whined twice then yawned. She stuck her cold wet nose in his ear then settled back in her seat. Dean gripped his brother's wrist and gently squeezed.

"Hey," Dean said softly. Sam trembled and batted back tears.

"They're supposed to just live their lives, Dean. They're not supposed to know what's going on... they shouldn't know. I think... I think I started this."

Dean gave him a second glance. "What do you mean?"

"The Gates opened about the time I escaped. I might have escaped through them."

"No, Sam. You even said so yourself; the gates were supposed to open to prevent the apocalypse from ending too soon, remember? I don't think it was you. I really don't." Sam could not keep the tears at bay. He covered his eyes and slightly rocked in his seat. Dean tapped the break as the ant line of cars halted again. "Sam?" he voiced. "Sam, I know you're remembering something."

Sam took two deep breaths. "It's the smoke," he whispered. "I remember _blood_ in the smoke."

Dean searched the ceiling just inches above his head. He remembered it, too. The stench, the stifling heat as smoke rose from the lower levels while things burned alive. And just as Sam said, there was blood in the billows of darkness. As Dean recalled, he even spotted an occasional body part. Gruesome and unnerving. He flipped on the air conditioner. "Okay. Sam... turn away from the window. Just... just turn away."

Sam obeyed and lowered the seat. He closed his eyes grateful for Dean's occasional glance or pat on the knee. They crept along the highway, inching like slugs on a brick path. Stop. Go a few yards. Stop. Marco noisily yawned and panted. She aimed to lick the side of Dean's face, but missed.

"Guh," Dean snorted. "It is too quite in this car. You gonna expect me to drive to Indiana with my kid brother snoring and two mutts yawning at the scenery the entire way?

Sam sat up and kept his back to the landscape. "I think Camila has some Fleetwood Mac CD's or, um, Pat Benatar. Maybe some Blondie." Sam popped open the glove compartment and plucked out a small zipped case containing a limited variety of CD's. He didn't see his brother's face line with disgust.

Dean bit his tongue, reminding himself that Sam's memory wasn't up to par as yet. "Dude," he said, "I'm all about Metallica, Zeppelin, AC/DC."

Sam cringed. "Really? Well... she has Disturbed and System of a Down."

Dean nodded at the compromise. He missed the Impala. "I can handle that." Dean took in the damaged outskirts of Green Bay as his brother turned on the radio before finding the right CD. David Cook's tenor filled the interior and Dean rolled his eyes until he heard _"I know he's living in hell every singe day. So I ask, Oh God is there a way for me to take his place?"_ his breath hitched, so grateful Sam slipped the CD in that moment. Dean watched his little brother out the corner of his eye as Disturbed replaced Cook's whiny mew with heavy guitars and a strong, angry voice.

Sam sank back and closed his heavy eyes. Dean hoped the tranquilizer held him long enough for them to escape the state. He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed it once. Sam smiled without meeting his eyes. They spoke without words. Even at this point in their lives, they still had that special connection; weak, but alive.

Dean waited until they hit the Illinois border before stopping for gas. His cell phone cried at the timely manner and he answered it as he stuck the gas nozzle into the jeep.

"_I thought I'd let you know that me and Camila 'r finally on the road,"_ Bobby and his lack of pleasantries sometimes left Dean scrambling to orient the voice to the person.

"Alex?" Dean asked.

"_Pacified." Bobby reported. "For now. How's Sam holdin' up?"_

"He slept through Disturbed and System of a Down. I'm guessing whatever's in that tranquilizer's pretty good stuff." Dean checked to see if Sam was still asleep. He tossed his brother a smile when weary hazel eyes met him. "We'll hit Chi-Town in another couple of hours."

"_Sounds_-" Bobby's voice cut off as Camila said something in the background. "_Dean?_"

"Yeah."

"_Camila wants to talk to you."_

"_Hey, Dean, stay away from Chicago and get off the main road._"

"Okay. I'm doing that why?"

"_Alex alerted the Network about you. Chicago is one of their larger, more organized areas."_

"That's nice, Camila but um, I just want to get Sam to Lisa's ASAP."

"_I know. But-shit."_

"Camila?"

"_Roadblock. We'll call you back."_

Sam emerged from the jeep and blinked sleep from his eyes. "Dean?"

"Yup."

"I would love to have some coffee. And no, I don't have money for it."

"Okay. Not a problem."

"And Marco needs to pee."

"Uhhh..."

"Not to worry, she'll come back."

Dean locked the gas cap and silently hoped he had enough funds to get them back to Indiana. He watched Marco as the rottie hopped out the back seat and gently tugged Roxi's collar to follow. Sam stood by and kept an eye on the dogs. Dean rounded the car and discreetly handed his brother his handgun. Sam lined his lips but did not argue.

Dean rushed through the mini market and nabbed hours-old food for himself and as fresh a sandwich as he could find for Sam. He picked up water, soda, M&M's, yogurt, coffee for both of them and a map. He kept his eyes on the car as the dogs returned from their bathroom break. Sam wiped his cheeks and petted Roxi when she stood on her hind legs. Dean wondered how his life would be like a year from now. A subtle smile touched his face. He'd be willing to be broke on his ass and leave the world devastated if it meant keeping Sam in his life.

"Oh," he said to the cashier, "I need some extra strength aspirin, please." he paid the bill and returned to the jeep as Sam slipped in. Dean passed the goodies to his brother and fastened his seat belt as Marco panted and then whined.

"Rowr, owr, owr rowr!"

"Oh, God, what was that?" Dean groaned.

Sam smiled broadly. "She's telling you to get this thing on the road."

Dean rolled the jeep onto the road and eased it into the left lane. "Bossy little bitch."

"She's not so little," Sam corrected as he delve into the collection of edibles. He set Dean's coffee in the holder first, tab pulled. He delved again and found the yogurt and assorted foodstuffs, the aspirin and "_Busty Asian Beauties_?"

"Yeah." Dean grinned. "The jeep doesn't come with TV, so... you know." he shrugged.

The light in Sam's face turned guilty. "I'm sorry, Dean, that I can't drive. You'll need a break-"

"Sam..." Dean reminded himself for the tenth time to be patient. "I like to drive."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Bathroom material, then. I get it."

Dean snatched the magazine and stashed it in the door pocket. "Give me that thing! Making fun of _Asian Beauties _should be a crime." Sam's laughter soothed Dean's once aching heart.

_Mason (Sam) kept a swift pace as he wandered through the college hallways. One door after another resisted entry. A voice in his head repeated "Don't go there. Don't go there."_

_She poisoned you with her blood. _

_I was seriously, seriously sick. I tried calling Bobby but could not remember his number. She gave me something to drink. _

_Demon blood._

_What the hell?_

_He fell to darkness and utter despair. The Hands of Hell called his name. They itched to render him to bloody pieces. They longed to devour his suffering, to cultivate it like fine wine. He tried to stop falling. He tried to grab air and fly back. _

_But the human body clipped Lucifer's ability to fly_._ Such irony. In spite of his pain, Sam scoffed at the devil._

"_You did this to us!" the archangel spat. _

_Sam smiled as he and the archangels disappeared into a vat of hands and teeth. Pain sliced into his form, searing hot, bitter cold._

_His veins raged with acidic fire but he was free. The devil's screams filled the cage's empty spaces. Michael gulped air and he too shrieked like someone who never felt pain before._

"Kirkland!"

Sam woke with a shudder. A cold sweat coated his skin. His vision settled on a pipsqueak Illinois town.

Dean's cheerful voice brought Sam back from evil. "Population 1,714. Typical Smallville, USA. You alright, Sam?"

"Forgot my music," Sam replied quietly. "Fell into the _Metabrae."_

Dean dropped his jaw and bounced his attention between the road and Sam's shocking dream. He snapped round the corner and parked the jeep at a small strip mall. Dean pinpointed his eyes on his brother who held a distant expression. "Sam, you wanna say that again?"

Sam slowly blinked as a tear escaped. He said nothing for a long time. Dean forced himself to be patient. He buried hell all the way inside him. Forty years gradually came back to haunt him through Sam's distressing words.

"The _Metabrae._" Sam softly repeated. He cast his eyes on his knees, amusement touched his lips. His smile resembled bitterness; sarcasm forged by irony. "Lucifer was so furious that the _Metabrae_ separated us he uprooted them himself."

Dean waited again but Sam dragged his sorrowful gaze out his window. "Sam," he said softly, "how often do you have that dream? I mean, have you had it before?"

Sam nodded and brought his eyes to Dean. "I have a dream journal I usually keep. There's probably ten or twelve dreams I, uh..." he forced a sigh to maintain control. "I have them on a regular basis."

Dean feathered Sam's hair over his ear. "The _Metabrae_ is an ocean of hands, or hand-like things, isn't it?" Sam mutely nodded. "They're kinda like... I dunno... Hell's doormat, aren't they?"

"Oven rack." Sam returned.

"They separated you and–you remembered saying _yes_ to Lucifer?"

Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Yes about what?"

Dean treaded carefully. Memory was a tricky thing and he did not want to risk Sam falling catatonic on him. "How did you know the devil was in you?"

"Because he came out of me. He tore-" Sam instantly buried his face and wept. Dean gripped him tightly and held on. He made no noise, but shed tears of his own for his little brother, for himself, for both of them.

Marilyn Manson's words came to Dean's mind:

_Mary, Mary  
To be this young I'm oh so scared  
I wanna live, I wanna love  
But it's a long hard road out of hell  
I wanna live, I wanna love  
But it's a long hard road out of hell  
You never said forever could ever hurt like this._

Dean Winchester doubted the writer and his group had the slightest clue what they sang about. It almost pissed him off to think anyone who's never actually been to hell, tries to describe what it's like. Pain, anguish, depression were just words that didn't scratch the surface. There was no Human description adequate enough to describe the things in that reality; much less the Cage.

Little by little Sam settled to an occasional sniffle. He shuddered a time then twice. "Dean?" he whispered.

Dean released him and found a travel pack of tissues in the door pocket. He handed it to Sam with attentive eyes.

"I'm starving."

Dean blinked, let the moment sink in and realized they'd been driving six hours at a crack. "Me too." he confessed. "You want to hit the store and grab some rabbit food?"

Sam shook his head. "I was thinking pizza, Dean."

Dean gently smacked Sam's arm. "Now you're talking. Pizza, a shake, something for the mutts. We'll grab a soda on the way out." Sam rewarded him with a light smile and for Dean, everything was right with the world.

They found a 'hole-in-the-wall' pizzeria complete with pool table, juke box and three pinball machines. Sam took care of the dogs. He let them loose as he filled their water and food dishes. Marco, hidden under her natural invisible condition, padded to Sam and licked him behind the ear.

"Uuuugh!" he wrinkled his nose and faced the hellhound. "You'd better not do that to Dean, Marco. You'll end up as steak." The oversized doggie lowered her head and tipped sideways, inviting Sam to stroke one of her ram's horns. Sam ran his hand over the solid metallic structure then scratched her muzzle. "Marco, stay," he quietly ordered.

Dean waited patiently in spite of his growing hunger. Camila's warning to stay off the main state highway was a good idea. Dinner in a pipsqueak town, meant he and Sam could take it slow for now. But Dean stayed alert. His training took over and he covertly scanned the restaurant which was not entirely empty. A trio of men huddled in a corner. They looked like professional wrestlers, their bodies chiseled from stone rather than flesh. They surrounded a laptop and leafed through old books. An anti-possession tattoo peeked out the sleeve of one man. Dean averted his eyes when the same guy took a long sip of his beer.

Sam entered and joined him a moment later. Dean wordlessly pointed to a table opposite the wannabe bikers. They settled in a booth and Dean again scanned their environment, mindful of tables, decorations, exits and windows.

He laid eyes on his brother who eyed the strangers and the restaurant staff as they came and left. The young man who bussed tables approached with pad and paper.

"Hi there," he said cheerfully. "What's your favor flavor?"

Dean gazed at his brother with mild trepidation. "Separate orders, Sam? I know you don't like anything greasy."

"Oh no," Sam grinned. "Pile it on!"

Dean blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! Not too spicy, though."

Dean nodded his agreement. "I'd like a... um, a vanilla shake."

"Chocolate." Sam raised an enthused finger.

Dean stared at him, clearly confused. "Aren't you afraid it'll clog your arteries or something?" Sam shook his head just enough to let Dean know he was serious. Dean slightly shrugged. "Okay."

Sam fell quiet a moment but his big brother read the nervous energy beaming from him. His unpredictable mood swings never left them with a dull moment. Sammy _smiled_.

"Hey," Dean beamed with a smile of his own. "You know, it's another eight hour drive to Cicero. We could either try to push through or find a skeeve motel somewhere and hang for the night."

Sam gave him a funny look. "What did you call it?"

"Skeeve."

Dean's brother shifted from uncertainty to amusement. "Is that even a real word?"

Dean shrugged, nonchalant. "A word is whatever you mean it to be, little bro. Better than grunting like a caveman."

Sam spotted their waiter with the pizza and shakes. "Oh." he grinned, "you mean like me in the morning before coffee-" he pointed to the pizza: "oooh! Speaking of caveman talk! Loa, loa, oot! Mmmm!" Sam bounced his brows and Dean lost it. He laughed, turned away to regain control and rubbed his eyes. Sam met the waiter's uneasy expression as Dean bowed over, struggling for composure. "His blood sugar is kinda low," he nodded at his brother as his shake scooted toward him. The waiter nodded and handed their plates and utensils. "Hey," Sam asked before the young man retreated out of earshot. "Does your pool table work?"

"Yeah."

"It's a _pool table_, Sammy. They don't break down."

Sam plucked out two slices of pizza. "No, but the balls could go missing."

Dean lost it again. Years of repressed sorrow and heartache dissolved under the spell of laughter. Sam took a bite of his meal and nudged his brother.

"Sh! You'll worry the natives."

Dean gulped several breaths. "Dude, you're killing me."

"Nah. My jokes aren't that good. You're just tired." Sam sipped his shake as Dean filled his plate and took in a long draught of his vanilla treat.

Dean moaned in pleasure when he tore off another bite of pizza. "Man, I love Abby's cooking. But I miss this stuff."

Sam finished his first slice and started on the next as he watched Dean all but inhale his dinner. "You play pool, Dean?"

Dean came all too close to biting his tongue in surprise. "Hell yeah!" he said with a mouthful." he watched Sam take in two more bites. This was so different from the moody, brooding brother who ate nothing and suffered depression. Dean took it in like someone deprived of fresh, clean air. "We could hang and play, if you'd like."

A mischievous twinkle lit Sam's eye. "I just want to beat the pants off you. Not _literally_, Dean."

"HA!" the elder Winchester scoffed. "I taught you everything you know." His brother smiled like a cat.

They finished their dish and while Sam checked on the dogs, Dean paid for a total of three games. He lined the rack for the first shot and chalked the tip of his cue stick. A chill coursed down Dean's back when the first notes of _Back in Black_ filled the restaurant. Sam entered the game room and removed his jacket while AC/DC caterwauled.

Dean froze, memories of the second worst day of his life erased everything in his mind except for fleeting moments of pain, sorrow and later, heartbreak. He batted his eyes and met Sam's concerned expression. Dean slipped on an easy-going smile. "Just thinking of Castiel," he lied.

Sam's hazel eyes roved around Dean's frame, looking for tell-tale signs. "Would you like me to change the song?"

"No." Dean instantly replied. "And since I paid for dinner and the games, I'm taking first turn."

Sam half nodded. "Right. You're um, going to show me how it's done."

"Smooth as silk, Sammy." and Dean made a beautiful break. He pocketed all the striped balls then finished with the solids; eight ball in the corner pocket." Dean beamed proudly.

His brother nodded, lips pressed into a line. "Not half bad for a mere mortal," he teased.

"Yeah, _mere mortal_," Dean scoffed. "The only person capable of beating dad at his own game."

Sam reset the rack. "This," he declared, "is the Mississippi Thirteen. You pocket seven at the break. You listening?"

"Yeah."

"Pocket seven at the break. Then drive the striker ball across the table in an M and take out the other six. Hit the eight with one ricochet."

Dean gave him a dubious glare. "Yeah, right, Sam." He figured his little brother was probably playing pool during his hiatus in Wisconsin. But what Sam described didn't sound like anything anyone could pull off. Dean leaned against the nearest pinball machine and watched. Sam made the break, sinking exactly seven cue balls. Not so difficult a feat. But he was far from done.

The three wannabes from the other side of the restaurant stepped into the game room doorway. Their eyes sized Sam up first then Dean. Sam pointedly ignored them but Dean returned their unfriendly gaze and unwarranted attention.

The middle man, a muscular model with a tattoo lining the middle of his bald head, nudged the brawny mutant on his right. "Now tell me, Dillon, that is not Dean Winchester."

"That can't be Dean Wimpchester." 'Dillon' parroted. "Retired's the word."

Sam smiled only with his lips and twirled his cue stick once before lining stick to strike ball for his special maneuver. He was aware of their concealed weapons under padded jackets. They blocked the only way in or out of the room. He noticed their shoes, the rings on their fingers and how the jerk at Middle Man's left owned at least one set of handcuffs in his left pant pocket.

"Heads up, Sammy." Dean said. "The Three Stooges are making public appearances."

"That's sorely cliche, Dean." Sam snapped his wrist and made the shot. The striker slammed two balls, ricocheted off one side, banged against the other side of the table, whacked three balls, bounced off the table's side again and cleared the surface of all but the eightball.

Dean blinked, silently impressed. "Well... Three Blind Mice?"

Mister Middle Man crossed his arms, annoyed. "Yeah, you're real cute. Say, we couldn't help but notice your brother is miraculously back from the dead."

Sam maintained lack of visual connection. He twirled his cue stick and kept his eyes on Dean. Standing next to his brother, Sam idly chalked his cue stick, his back to the strangers.

Dean wanted to deny it. He remembered Castiel's warning and feared he'd have to resort to drastic measures to keep his brother safe. He struggled for words, something that might throw them off the scent.

"We know that's you, Sam. Got the message early this morning from Alex Stepford." Middle Man nodded over his shoulder. "How about you girls step outside with us?"

Sam bowed his head, loose bangs dangled over his eyes. Dean gripped the edge of the pool table. He smiled cold. "Well, first off, as I'm always telling him," he nodded toward Sam, "we're not supposed to talk to strangers. Secondly, we don't make it a habit of listening to dicks." Dean glanced at Sam in time to see his brother nod in agreement. But Sam still did not face their challengers. Dean folded his arms, shrugged. "Besides, it's not smart to make a scene. I'm sure the people working here won't be happy if we make a mess of their place." he didn't like how Middle Man smiled.

"We've already taken care of the workers here. It's just you two and the three of us. So how about we just deal with this quietly? He's not your brother, Dean. Whatever's standing there isn't human."

"Yeah, and you clowns would be experts in that field," Dean scoffed. "How about you guys just keep it simple and pretend you didn't see us? Hm? Just sorta walk away. Cuz Sammy and me..." Dean shook his head in mock pity and protruded his lower lip. "We don't like to beat up old ladies."

Sam lifted his head but sent his gaze to the far corner. "I'm not fighting, Dean," he said softly. "I promised Abby I'd be good."

Dean ran his hand over his hair. "Okay." he nodded toward Sam. "My brother-"

"He's NOT your brother," Dillon corrected.

Dean swallowed hard. "My_ brother_," he emphasized, "says he doesn't wanna fight."

Dumbass on the left cracked his knuckles and cackled. As if cued, his buddies opened their jackets and produced sawed off shotguns. Dillon cocked his all too eagerly.

"_Sonofabitch."_ Dean muttered.

**Cool fight, next chapter! Mwhahahaha!**


	10. Otium

**A/N: I SO love a good bar brawl! (Although Sam and Dean technically are not in a bar) No bar fights are created equal (the last time I wrote a story with a bar fight, the character blew out the entire back wall) This chapter may be hard for the queezy to read; it describes torture in hell and there's a few 'choice words'.**

Otium

Dean slowly set his cue stick on the pool table and lifted his hands but waist-high. Middle Man and Dillon took aim at Sam. Dean stepped back to optically communicate with his brother. But Sam's eyes fell closed. He swallowed hard as a tear marked his face.

"Please don't," he whispered. "Please."

Dean breathed out, in. Sam slowly faced their would-be killers and changed his expression, fitting a blank look over his features. His eyes opened, clear and completely black.

Sam took small delight in the trio's shocked faces. One of them uttered a protection spell. "Kill me if you have to," Sam said with a leveled voice, "but don't endanger Dean's life and don't shoot me in front of him; it's not his fault.

True to the arrogance of his nature, Middle Man moved his rifle from Sam to Dean. Sam's brother hissed another swear word. The boys counted time by the beating of their hearts as Dillon and Middle Man squeezed their triggers. Dean and Sam dropped as the gunfire boomed through the restaurant. Their hands caught the ledge of the pool table and they slid under.

Something large and heavy battered against the restaurant's front door. An unearthly half-bark, half-howl roared from outside. The three startled hunters searched the wooden door with their eyes.

Dillon spotted it through the window slits; the shape of nightmares of which, by rights, he should not be able to see. Marco's red eyes glowed through the frosted glass before she clawed the door again. Dillon caught his breath, "Shit!"

Dean used the diversion and snatched Sam's abandoned cue stick. He swaked Dillon's knees hard. The hunter crumbled with a yelp of pain. His fallen gun fired and shattered a light. Middle Man-'Baldy'-clumsily aimed at Dean and missed when the restaurant's door cracked under the beast's persistence. He aimed his rifle and shot a hole through the door.

Dean charged after Middle Man but Dillon grappled his back and Dean fell on top of him. They wrestled for control as Baldy attempted to kick Dean but missed when Dillon rolled.

Guy on the Right watched the action and failed to see Sam before falling flat on his face. Sam jumped to his feet as Guy snapped out a wicked knife and grazed Sam's right leg.

No pain.

Guy on the Right hauled his ass off the ground but stayed hunched over like an old woman. He sliced the air with hand and blade. He missed Sam three more times before Sam caught his wrist and twisted. The hunter's whole body spun and flopped on the floor. Sam heard Baldy's shot gun click for another target when Marco re-attempted to crash the fight.

Sam yanked Guy close to his chest and KA-BAAAM! The shotgun cracked the air. Guy slumped in Sam's arms.

Marco scraped a small weak spot in the door and Baldy's eyes shot wide. He saw nothing, but knew too well what that thing was. He panned his aim from Sam to Dean and Dillon. Dean's solid right cross, sent Dillon staggering. Having forgotten Sam, Baldy targeted the men. Two ear-splitting shots pounded the air; Sam tackled from behind. The rifle spun away and Baldy swiveled to Sam with a heavy blow.

Dean lost his footing to Dillon and the two wrestled until Dillon pinned him under. One horrific punch followed a second then a third before Dean freed his arms. Marco gnawed and snarled at the door, desperately lacerating with her huge metal claws.

In spite of the dog's unnerving noises, Dean bunched Dillon's shirt and with all his strength, toppled the man to the side. Dean hit the man's jaw with an elbow and rolled out of reach. He scrambled to stand first and kicked Dillon's chin the half second the hunter rose. With strength born of anger and adrenaline, Dean grabbed his opponent by the shirt once again, literally dragged him up and slammed Dillon against the nearest wall.

"WHO ARE YOU?" he hotly demanded.

Dillon glanced nervously to the door where Marco's claws weakened the wood. The hunter's face projected an indignant mess of rage, bruises, sweat and blood. He snorted like a trapped bull. "Staussan. From Texas. Spotted you on sight. Didn't know that was yer brother. Just after you."

"Why?"

Dillon mirthlessly and soundlessly chuckled. "You opened the fucking gates, Winchester. Word is you been messing with unholy powers and forces. And if that's Sam... oh, brother. You're in some deep shit. They gotta price on yer heads."

"Who?"

Sam rolled with the nasty punch. He used the same force and came back with a left uppercut before sinking his foot into Baldy's middle. Baldy bounced off the wall and speared head and shoulders into Sam. They hit the floor. Sam lost his wind and Baldy abandoned Sam for Dillon's fallen rifle. He checked it when Dean slammed Dillon into the wall. Dillon blubbered. Dean demanded names and Baldy planted a bullet in Dillon's brain. He inched right, aimed at Dean and the front door splintered. A rabid, invisible beast punctured the carpet as it hightailed straight for Baldy.

Baldy lost his right arm to Marco's teeth. The rifle dropped and added another hole to Dillon's head. Baldy shrieked and jolted across the room. The pool table sagged under Marco's weight.

Baldy's body came priceless inches to spattering against the pinball machine. But he hung in mid-air, kept alive by invisible hands.

The hunter screamed and squirmed. His wounded arm stopped bleeding as his body met the empty wall to his right. He grunted, squirmed and growled as Sam approached, wiping blood from the corner of his lip. He did not acknowledge the bloody gash in his cheek from Baldy's rings.

In spite of his helpless predicament, Baldy grinned, bluffing his way through fear. "Well, well, well. Sam Winchester. You were dead, boy. What are ya' now? A Demon, maybe? Nephalim? A zombie bitch? Maybe some sorta new monster?" Baldy's face scrunched once with agony. "Brought something back with you, didn'tcha? What is that, a consolation prize for being dead for several years?"

"Dead is a relative term," Sam answered flatly.

"Whatever. So how much a' you is really you, Sammy-boy? Hu? What mojo did you use on Duane? Did you suck out his soul before using him as a shield?"

Marco snarled and the pool table clanked with her invisible claws. Dean joined the little party and scrutinized Sam with a cautious eye. He snarked at Baldy, his expression lightened.

"Well, well, well," Dean mimicked. "Lookit this! Sammy bagged us an ugly one! Sammy, isn't there a law or something against keeping ugly ones?"

"Only if they're real little, Dean."

Dean raised his brows and nodded, lips lined. "Well, I guess that leaves you out, Sam."

Baldy's nose flared, "you're FREAKS! Both of you! The second I get outta here, I'm gonna spread the news. Every hunter and tracker from coast to coast will be hunting your heads. Don't think I won't do it, boys. I'll make your lives a LIVING HELL!"

Marco barked sharp and loud. All three men winced. Dean shushed her down as Sam held out his hand, fingers splayed. With a twist of his wrist, Baldy's body turned upside down against the wall. Fear expanded the hunter's pupils and he panted, his face paled. He tried not to look into Sam's deep black eyes.

Said Winchester crouched before him. He did not see Dean withdraw a hypo from his pocket. He moved his face close to Baldy and kept his voice soft and quiet. "You know nothing of Hell, little man. It's imprudent to speak of things you've never personally experienced."

Sam sighed and wiped blood from Baldy's bottom lip. "See," he continued, "there's levels in Hell. In fact, Hell is an incorrect word. But I'll spare the small print. What I _will_ tell you about is a torture device called the web. See, the rack is the third level down." Sam shook his head. "Horrible describes only the first day. But the web..." again he drew a deep breath. "That's where all the big bad boys go. They hang you upside down-exactly as you are right now." Sam's eyes drifted off and he scrunched his nose. "Not all the time. They do have a sense of humor. But usually they put you upside down. They start with your spinal cord."

Dean lipped his brother's name; his voice refused to work. He trembled, not wanting to hear this, yet he wanted to know what his little brother suffered. Dean couldn't decide what to do.

Oblivious to everything but his own horrid memories, Sam simply went on. "They cut into the spinal cord and drain all the fluids. Very painful. You lose no sensation. All you feel is pain. And then they cut your arteries." Sam looked as though he fell into catatonia or a trance. "All the fluid drains. All that's left is pain. Your body shrivels, your muscles contract and spasm. There's no saliva. You can't speak. You can't see because they stole fluids from your eyes. And you're still alive."

Sam's lips curve upward, but it's not a smile. His eyes freeze, looking so far inward, he no longer saw the room or his brother beside him. "And then the cutting begins. They'll use anything-even their own teeth, claws and nails. They have... instruments... saws, axes..." Sam blinked and brought his gaze back to the frightened man. "And yes, you're still alive when they're cutting you up like a wooden doll. And you're alive when your body is a pile of dried skin, powdered blood, innards and bone. And you're still alive when they grind you to powder. And you're still alive when they sprinkle you in vats of acid and you're still alive when they set you on fire and you remember all that unbelievable agony when your body comes back and you're stuck on the web _again_ and _again_ and _again_. And you always hear the screams from the condemned and the shrieks from the insane. But you are completely alone."

Sam choked in a sob. "It's more difficult to remain rational when something is eating you; always difficult to watch-" he shuddered with tears as someone grabbed and held him. The smell of leather, aftershave and warm sunshine brought Sam back to the present, back from the memory of darkness, fire, agony and solitude. Dean gripped tightly him as though to save Sam from his own memories.

"Hey," Dean growled quietly, "let's get you the hell outta here. Okay?" Sam trembled in his arms and Dean hauled him to his feet.

"Hey!" Baldy called. "You're just gonna leave me here?"

"Yeah," Dean snapped back. "We'll call the cops to come and break you free." he stood in front of his brother, staring into a face worn with phantom pain. "Sam? Sam, take Marco. Put her and Roxi in the car. You hearin' me, Sam? Huh? Put Roxi and Marco in the car. I'll be there in a moment."

"Dean, you shouldn't be around me. You could endanger yourself."

Dean remained firm but gentle. "The dogs, Sam. I'll be there in a moment." he waited for his brother to release him and exit the silent and bloodied restaurant. Dean turned his attention to Baldy and clenched his teeth with a not-so-friendly smile.

Sam released Roxi and sadly petted her as Marco followed out. She returned to her usual rottie form and polished off the water bowl. Sam loaded Roxi into the jeep then returned for Marco who panted and wagged her rear. She kissed Sam's hands and face.

"You saved Dean's life, Marco. I don't know-I don't understand how you knew." Sam dropped to his knees and hugged the hellhound when she whimpered for him. After a moment, Marco started toward the car, nearly dragging Sam with her. He staggered and caught his balance against her. Marco remained stable and muzzled her boy's hips to keep him steady. They made it to the car and Sam closed his door as the last of his energy drained, leaving him despondent.

Sam lost the feel for time. He thought he slept for hours before Dean came to the car. Sam's brother handed him a laptop, several books and a stuffed binder. Sam slowly studied the pile on his lap but did not move anything. He lifted weary eyes as Dean drove off the parking lot and headed into heavy traffic.

"It's all their stuff, Sam," Dean answered the unspoken question. "I'd like to know what they were up to, maybe find what they knew about us." he glanced at his brother. "Hey, I know you're tired, Sammy. But I don't want to be anywhere in this town. Sooner or later someone will call the cops and we need to be free and clear."

"Our DNA is everywhere in there, Dean."

"Nah. I took care of it. It's all clean. The place we sat, the pool table and accessories and the bathrooms. And yes, I got the glasses, too."

Sam almost drifted until he remembered one more thing: "did you get the juke box, Dean?"

"What? Sonofabitch!"

"It's okay. It's just my prints."

"Sam, that's enough to convict you."

"Only if they have my prints on record." Sam fell silent as Dean wove his way through traffic and off the main road. Disturbed played continually as Dean pushed them through the night. He kept saying no as each town they encountered promised a peaceful night's sleep. He just wanted to get to Indiana, to home and safety. The little 'play' at the restaurant hit him harder than he wanted to admit even to himself. He wanted answers. He wanted to find a way to protect his family-all of his family-at all costs.

Sam gradually succumbed to the car's soft vibrations and fell asleep somewhere in Gridley. Dean kept an eye on his brother, reminiscing the number of times Sam slept in the Impala as they cris-crossed the continent from job to job. Just having his brother there, taking space and presence was enough to keep Dean going that extra mile. He found no words to describe how much he missed it.

Upon approaching Darlington, Indiana, Sam woke with a start and shoved the laptop and files off his lap. Roxi barked the warning just before Sam opened his door to get out.

"Whoa! Sam!" Dean applied the break, caught his brother by the collar and managed a smooth transition off the empty highway. Sam couldn't get his safety belt off fast enough. "Sam!" Dean called. His brother fell out, scampered to his feet and ran heedless into the night. "Marco, find Sam!" Dean ordered.

The Rottweiler obeyed and slipped out the car as Dean undid his own belt, grabbed a flashlight, his handgun, checked for his emergency hypo and followed the dog.

"SAM!" the night swallowed his voice like a subtle black hole. "SAM!" he ran through untamed weeds. His foot slipped on a rock, but Dean kept his balance. Marco barked twice to indicate location. Dean changed direction to one o'clock. He halted long enough to use the flashlight. Long grasses and one tree reflected his light. Neither house nor farm promised refuge for a runaway brother.

Movement at one-fifteen. Dean swore and raced on. Sam was always fast on his feet, those damned long legs of his; too much an advantage. But adrenaline surged through Dean's veins like a super drug and in three more yards, he caught up and tackled.

Sam snapped his body around and kicked Dean in the shoulder, screaming. **"WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE?**" he scrambled backward. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO **SLICE MY LEGS OFF **BEFORE YOU **TRANSPORT** ME! YOU THINK I'M THAT **TASTELESS**?"

Dean stood and heaved for air. "Sam," he kept his voice down, "you're in a dream. You're sleep-walking."

"Oh, you're just freaking hilarious," Sam snarled. "Trying to sound like Dean? That's low. Even for you."

"Who do you think I am?" Dean waited but Sam never answered. Big brother rubbed his face. "Okaaay. Dealing with Sam, Rule Number Four: Never let him sleep in a moving vehicle."

"Mason," Sam whispered.

"What?"

"Mason."

"Yeah. That's what you called yourself. Remember?"

"Mason," Sam repeated. "I have to remember Mason."

"Why?" Dean watched as Sam's form bowed over. Marco whined beside him and nibbled her left side. "Sam?"

"What's wrong with me?" Sam's voice turned to despair. "I'm such a mess. Someone help. Help me!"

Dean summoned patience. He reminded himself that he wanted to bring Sam out, whether or not Castiel said to do so. He knelt before his brother and laid hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy, I don't know where you think you are, Dude. But you are not there. You're sitting in some off-road field in Indiana with Marco and your tired, half-beat but awesome brother."

"I have an awesome brother?" Sam stared at Dean as though looking at a stranger. Dean ignored the look until Sam smiled generously. "I do! I have an awesome brother!"

Dean wasn't sure how to take that. "Yeah, okay. Come on, Sasquatch, let's hit the road." he stood to leave but Sam did not move. Through the flashlight's ambience, Dean watched his brother's eyes turn to suspicion. "Sam," Dean's voice turned firm. "C'mon, let's go."

"Marco, protect," Sam ordered. The hellhound whined and licked Dean's left hand. Exasperated, Sam wrapped his arms around her and held tight. She whined again and stood. When Sam still did not move, the rottie pressed two steps forward.

Dean crouched again. "Sam, I know it's confusing. But I swear I'm not here to hurt you." Dean's words did not register at first but Sam finally made the connection. He held his hand out, his brother clamped on and hauled him up. Dean trained the flashlight on Marco as they tracked back to the jeep. He guided Sam into his seat and secured the belt.

After Marco hopped in, Dean started the engine and turned the music off. He drew a breath and returned to the highway. "Sam, are you awake?"

"I am now," but he could not face Dean.

"Sam, it's not your fault. It's not something you can control."

"It put you in danger. _I_ put you in danger."

"No you didn't. We have Marco. And she kicks ass, don'tchya, pup?" Dean tried to find her in the dark. Sam's head dipped in shame. "Listen, Sam, if it'll make you feel any better, I'm worried, okay? I don't know how to deal with you in that state. I mean, last time you took off, you almost made yourself a Sammy pizza. I'm guessing that Abby and Mike have already taken you to a specialist or two, haven't they?"

"Yes. But...I-I can't exactly tell them-"

"Right," Dean nodded. "Right. I get that. Hell's not exactly on the map. And you'd end up on the goofy juice for the rest of your life, wearing white clothes and watching other wannabe psychos."

Sam's voice came light and sleepy. "Dean I _am_ one of those wannabe psychos." he paused a moment and wrapped his arms about himself. "I don't even know why you were so amped up to dragging my ass out this way."

"Two reasons, Bro: I want you to stay with us a while. I mentioned that before, remember? And secondly, Cas said I needed to get you outta Wisconsin. It's not safe there." Sam sunk, sullen, and covered his face. Dean laid a hand on his neck and gently rubbed with his thumb. "We'll get through this, Sammy. I promise. You came back to me." Dean trained his sight on the road as darkness lifted with pre-dawn light. He swallowed his emotion. "And _we_ can do anything."

The sun aged eight thirty-six AM by the time Dean parked Camila's jeep in front of Lisa's house. Sam did not move; his eyes pasted dull and grey out the windshield. Dean undid their seat belts then patted his brother's knee. "Lemme talk with Lisa first, okay?" he glanced at the dogs. "Marco, stay," he said. Dean hoped if Marco obeyed a command, Roxi was an automatic follow-up.

He gave Sam a final once-over and left for the house. Sam simply sat there, his mind a blank from the present. Flashes of foul memories skipped along those blank spaces. Screams uttered by the damned reminded him of unspeakable, nameless things.

They tore off his arms and ate them in front of him. They had no name; just globs of unearthly life forms. They didn't know his name either.

_Mason._

Because there was no Sam.

_No. Mason._

Yes. Because for a very long time, there was no Sam. Sam was a worn pair of jeans tossed in the corner of the basement. His ragged body lay forgotten, left to rot. Michael cut off his hands. Lucifer ate his feet. Sam could not walk. Little things ate holes into his thighs and borrowed into his bones while the two archangels fought madly in the dark. The dark filtered into Sam's soul. The air rained acid, melting his skin, withering his muscles. Something else ate his eyes.

Then came the Loathsome Shapes. They moved like sheets in the wind and a putrid stench followed their path. They pasted the archangels to the web. Michael remained silent, but Lucifer shrieked like a mad animal. His words shook the Cage. The landscape bubbled with festering mounds of molten sulfur. Creatures of lower classification died by the millions. The devil's voice sliced Sam's soul like verbal razors. Sam died many times listening to Lucifer's Dark Speak.

Everything in the cage reeked of death. Even despair and depression tainted the air with decay.

Sam longed to cease to exist.

_Mason._

It was important.

Sam lost himself. No hours or days counted. Lucifer played with his body. It hurt. It hurt like nothing, the rapes hurt like everything. Lucifer spoke softly to Sam; words filled with poison and hatred so deep Sam had no vocabulary for it.

"_Sam, Lisa... love to eat you."_

One fallen tear cooled his cheek. Sam prayed for Dean's life then prayed for his brother's soul.

"_Sam?"_

Sam longed for redemption but gave it up to end the apocalypse. The angels despised him anyway. They knew he was damned the moment of his birth.

"_Sammy..."_

He loved hearing his brother's voice. He always found strength there. Lucifer hated Dean. He hated Dean as much as the angels hated Sam. But Lucifer hated Sam too because Sam refused his gifts and Sam refused to help him conquer the world and Sam refused to take leadership of Hell.

_Mason._

Stop saying that! Dean said he was Sam! Sam Winchester! He _wanted_ to be Sam Winchester. He _wanted_ to be Dean's little brother. Another tear escaped and dried along his cheek.

Some hideous, rabid hellhound tugged at his shoulder. Sam lay at the bottom, a mangled mass of flesh and hopelessness. Massive jaws crunched through his bones and tugged his ligaments apart. Something other insidious creature happened along, gathered his remains off the floor. Wasn't he supposed to be on the web today?

Sam batted his eyes. He failed to mention to that Baldy about the gang rapes. Not so important, was it? Some creature carried him away and laid him on a table. This was where the Creepers dissect their vicitims. Vessels get 'special treatment'.

"_Catatonic... I don't know what happened-well, there was a fight..."_

Yes there was. The Creepers always fought over him. Lucifer thought it was funny. And while they bickered over Sam, Luci climbed the table.

"_Um, I can get it... what's it called again? George Winston?"_

Music. Hell's music echoed with the melody of agonized wailing, the harmony of curses and the pitch and tones of eternal torment.

Wait a minute.

Wait. Something hopped onto the table. It licked him and-and something cool and soothing lay over his brow.

"_Sammy?"_

He hated it when Azazel called him Sammy-boy. Dean NEVER called him Sammy-boy. Never. And this voice? Soft, sweet.

"_Sammy?"_

No. That wasn't Dean. It wasn't a demon. Locked in darkness, Sam saw nothing.

_I danced with the devil and shoved him into Hell._

_I danced with death until the final bell._

_I danced a final time and it ended not so well._

Sam fell unresponsive. Dean returned and found his brother brain-locked. No amount of shouting fazed him. Dean kicked himself repeatedly for failure to pay attention. He did, however, luck out. Their neighbor, Pavel Schwantzerg, a night club bouncer, was home. Pavel, who lifted four hundred pound weights, gladly loaned his assistance. Besides, he owed Dean a favor for fixing his wife's car. And for someone of his size and stature, Pavel amazed Dean when he handled Sam like a giant cradling a frail kitten. The sight reminded Sam's brother of the dream he had a few weeks ago; of Thor carrying Sam out of hell.

They laid Sam in Lisa's meditation room and heartedly thanked Pavel for his help.

"_Dean, it's not your fault,"_ Abby kindly reminded when he called her. "_Mas...Sam is unstable. The reason we've not had him committed is because he's never been a threat to us. As long as we keep an eye on him, he's not been a threat to himself, either."_

"Abby, he was just sitting in the car," Dean reiterated. He stood in the bedroom corner as Lisa laid a cool cloth over Sam's eyes. Bobby and Camila just arrived. Camila attached Sam's MP3 player to Lisa's stereo system and scrolled for the perfect selection.

"How often am I supposed to give him his medicine?" Dean finally asked. Abby rattled off times between medication and sleep aids but the information leaked out the phone and onto the floor. Dean saw tears fall into Sam's hair and he choked up.

"_Dean? Dean?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. It's just..."

"_I know it's hard. It's not your fault, hon. You boys have been through something awful, I know. Just stay calm. Sam needs your strength. And remember, I'm just a phone call away. And talk to him, Dean. He can hear you, he just can't respond."_

"Okay."

"_Get some rest. Camila's there, isn't she?"_

"Yeah. She and Bobby-"

"_Put her on. You get some rest."_ her reassurance soothed Dean's fears. He did not want to sleep, but certainly needed it. He handed Camila the phone and followed Bobby out the room when his surrogate father nodded toward the door.

"You boys 've stirred up a hornet's nest there in Illinois."

"We didn't kill-"

"I know," Bobby answered dismissively. "But there's a trail now."

"Bobby, Sam's eyes changed."

"Huh?"

"Remember when he was recovering from the demon blood in your drunk tank?" Dean didn't wait for an answer. "Yeah, his eyes changed. I don't know if it's an emo side effect or something else, but..." Dean couldn't finish. He looked elsewhere for some visual distraction as Bobby processed the information.

"It's still Sam, Dean. When ya think about it, your trip to the basement didn't include the devil as a passenger. It's possible that all that power within Sam has changed him slightly. How could it _not_ change or affect him somehow? In fact, we still don't know the long-term effects your trip will have on you. Nobody's ever been or done what you boys had gone through."

Dean swallowed his reaction and shivered. "Um, I relieved our assailants of their computer and files. They recognized me on sight, but were surprised to find out about Sam." Dean sent his gaze elsewhere again when Bobby glued his eyes, reading Dean's subtle signals.

"Git yerself some sleep, ya brainless idgit," Bobby reprimanded. "I'm gonna find a place nearby to crash myself."

"I am too," Camila announced from nowhere. "I found a job here. So I'm going to hang for a few more days."

Dean expressed gratitude with a smile.

_Sam drank those demons dry. Blood dripped from his face. His black eyes contained the madness of hell. Clearly he wanted more. It infuriated Dean that Sam went behind his back and committed such heinous sins. Dean went to hell and Sam threw his life and freedom away. Their fight shredded the motel room until Dean managed the upper hand. He slammed his brother's head into the old plaster. He did it again and again, drawing blood; determined to knock sense into the idiot who deserved nothing. _

"_What is the MATTER with you?" Dean screamed. "Is this what you want? Cuz Lucifer is just waiting for an opportunity! What is the MATTER with you?"_

_Sam broke and covered his bloodied face. Dean didn't know whether to be sorry or disgusted. Either way, Sam quickly regained his composure. But his eyes betrayed him. "I want you hate me so that when you kill me, it won't break your heart."_

_Dean broke._

And Dean woke to a tear-soaked pillow. His arms and legs enveloped Lisa's smaller form, his chin on her head. What were they going to do from this point? Dean did not think Lisa wanted Sam to stay with them. Dean would love that; he'd have everything under one place. Of course, Sam's home was only two states away, not that long a drive. But... but he wasn't _here_. And no way on this planet (or in hell) was Dean going to allow Sam to take the bus to and from locations. Maybe he could talk Lisa into relocating.

"Somebody's awake." Lisa's muffled tones hinted mischief. Her wandering hands confirmed it.

Dean grinned as her lips climbed between his breasts one kiss at a time. She lingered at the base of his neck, tenderly avoiding a bruise Dillon delivered during the fight. Lisa gently lured Dean on his back. She rose slightly to meet his eyes, her light body moved soft against his. "You have been missed."

"Really?" Dean grinned. "How much was I missed?"

Sam woke with an empty heart. Framed photographs of forest, valley and ocean lined the room around him. Shorter posters plastered the wall closest to the stereo. A wind chime dangled by the window. The lingering scent of sandalwood lightly perfumed the bed sheets. But for Sam, everything seemed trite and meaningless. Roxi yawned next to him and bathed his right hand. He petted her and forced himself to smile. Marco, who slept on the floor, sneezed and rolled over. Her feet hung in the air a moment before she 'talked' and squirmed, rubbing her back into the carpet.

Taking a better scan of his surroundings, Sam found his bags, laptop and bowls of food and water for his companions. "Looks like you two got room service without asking if it cost extra." he forced himself out of bed, wincing over sore muscles, bruises and the cut along his right leg. While the cut wasn't deep, its red line ran from the middle of his thigh to four inches below the knee.

Marco danced excitedly as Sam changed his clothes and applied booboo medicine to his leg and shoulder. "I'm coming, Marco, just hold on. Sam opened the door as he pulled a long-sleeved tee over his aching chest. He knew he was at Lisa's and Dean's but he knew nothing of the layout. Sam waited for Marco to tug Roxi out the little room; the two panted in anticipation.

"Well, you two will have to show me the door, ladies. I was brain dead earlier, remember?" Marco pranced and half-jumped. "Marco," Sam softly warned. "Door." he followed the rottie down the hall into a spacious kitchen complete with smooth hardwood flooring. A sliding glass door barred the way between them and the back yard. Sam inspected the door for a line of salt, a protection sigil or even a house alarm system. But found nothing and opened the door. Marco bounded out and Roxi trotted after. Sam shunned the sunlight and closed the glass door. He suppressed the urge to shudder; insecurity crept from the back of his mind. He was safe here, even if there were no visible signs of protection. He believed in Dean, that his brother would let nothing happen. And of course, Marco was right outside.

"Hey, you're Sam, huh?"

He swallowed hard and faced a boy with bright inquisitive eyes. Sam hesitantly nodded.

"That's cool. Saw your dogs. What're their names?"

"M-Marco and Roxi."

Ben winced. "Marco? What kind of name is that?"

"An inside joke."

"Ffp. 'Kay. Hey, you play Grand Theft Auto or Nazerbeeg's Revenge?"

Sam meekly nodded. "Yeah, actually. I have a buddy in New Mexico who just cracked level four in Nazerbeeg Two."

"No way."

"Yeah. You actually have to get married-"

Ben held his hand out like a pause button. "Dude, no spoilers."

Sam's face lifted with amusement. "Okay. Um, is your yard fenced in?"

Ben rolled his eyes. "Of course. Mom and Dean fought two weeks before he agreed not to write stuff all over our walls if she'd let him build a fence."

Sam's amusement turned to a real smile. "Hey, is there, um, any way of getting coffee-without waking your mom or Dean?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll make you some-" Ben started then paused. "Gotta promise to play me a game or two, though."

"What if I suck?"

Ben shrugged. "Then I'll call it a day and you a bitch."

Sam wasn't sure he heard that right but went with it. "Um, okay. Sounds fair. Wait. You can make coffee?"

"Are you kidding?" Ben's eyes rounded. "After Dean ditched the Jack he's been all _about_ coffee!"

Ben hauled the coffee from the refrigerator when Roxi pawed the glass door. Sam let her in and helped himself to a seat at the kitchen table. Roxi hovered, inducing Sam to pet her thick mottled coat. Sam already missed Wisconsin and Abby's voice late at night. What the hell was he doing in Indiana, anyway?

"So do you like your coffee wimpy or strong enough for your spoon to stand in?"

Sam met the boy's eyes and tried to determine the child's intellect verses a good front. "How about if the coffee smells good, I'll drink it?"

Ben slightly protruded his lips with a quick shrug and nod. He scooped coffee, watered the maker and set it for dark. "Dean says you live in Wisconsin. You a Packers fan?"

"Football?"

"Yeah. It's a sport?"

Sam massaged Roxi's soft ears. "I watch it with Mike. But he and I are more into wrestling." Sam lifted his eyes and noticed the disapproval on Ben's face.

"You watch that girly crap? All brawn, no brain and no talent?"

Sam's smile came tired, "I knew you were going to say that and the answer is no, Ben. I'm jerking your chain. We watch the History Channel. The Greatest Warrior. Ice Road Truckers. Boring stuff, you know."

Ben bounced his head once in half a nod. "Coffee: black or creamed?"

"Creamed."

Sam and Ben fought their way to level three when Lisa emerged, dressed in casual, her hair shower-damp. "Well, this is good to see. Ben, you've minded your manners, haven't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sam, have you eaten?"

Sam caught her eyes and shook his head. "No. Um, Ben made coffee for me."

"Dude!" Ben declared. "You TOTALLY SMOKED that mother! Whaddo I owe you for that?"

"Let's call it, since you let me use the bridge earlier," Sam's voice came quiet. Roxi pushed her muzzle under his arm and yawned. "Hold on here, Ben," he excused himself. "I need to take care of something."

"Oh, yeah. Bathroom is the second door on the right."

Sam slowly found his footing. He ached and sorrow gathered just under his sternum. He needed to take his medicine now before underlying distress caught up with his self-control. Dean met him in the hallway and automatically handed him a glass of water and a time-release capsule.

Sam bowed his head with a mixture of shame and gratitude. He took the pill and leaned against the wall. Dean retrieved the glass and affectionately squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"Hungry? And you'd better say yes, Sam cuz I'm starving." he watched Sam mutely nod and eyed Roxi when she whined from her place on the floor. Dean softened his voice, "did you want to talk about it?" Lisa already warned Ben to keep his harassment tendencies in his pockets. Dean knew the boy was quick to find buttons to push; and he made it clear that Sam was off limits. He didn't think Ben would do anything stupid, but Dean's protective impulses regarding Sam outweighed everything else.

"I need aspirin, Dean. And um, I'd like to call Abby, if that's okay."

Dean didn't even hesitate. He flipped out his cell phone, handed it to his brother, "Just come to the kitchen when you're ready."

Lisa met her lover's masked eyes as she whipped a large bowl of pancake mix. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, optimistic. "Adjustment sucks."

"Mom," Ben called from the livingroom. "Can we get a dog?"

"No," both Dean and Lisa chorused.

"Sam's got two of them. Names are retarded, but the dogs 'r cool." the boy waited a beat as Lisa poured batter on the griddle and Dean rinsed off and sliced up a nectarine for Sam. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Is Sam moving in?"

Dean paused in his work and lifted his eyes toward Ben who voiced his own hopes. He dried his hands and waited for Lisa's answer.

"No, Ben. Sam lives in Wisconsin. He's just visiting for a few days."

Ben carefully tucked away his disappointment and stared out the glass door, watching Marco lie in the sun, happily panting.

"Abby, those shitheads knew me."

"_Mason-Sam, sweetheart, you are part of a much larger world than what lies on the surface; a darker, more powerful world than the one in which I teach. I am surprised that we've not had trouble sooner than this."_

Sam did everything he could to keep tears from his voice. "Dean does not need to be dragged into my problems, Abby. He deserves more than this. I don't know... what to do."

"_He loves you, Sam. But it's going to take time. I know you're worried things won't work out. I know you're scared. You've lost your memories, you've had a rough two years and suddenly you find out you have a brother. It's a lot to process in a short amount of time. And had things gone differently here, I would not have consented for you going to Indiana. But I feel better knowing you're safe. And you know that you can call me, Hon. Just hang in there, Sam. Things will get easier. Alright? And Camila is going to stay there for a few days, too."_

"Camila's here?"

Abby paused. "_Sam, Hon, did you just get out of bed?"_

"Bout an hour ago, yeah."

"_You get in there and get some breakfast, young man. I've told Dean to call me if you don't behave._"

That brought an honest smile to Sam. "Yes, Ma'am." he clicked the phone off and returned to the kitchen, feeling lighter. Dean set another cup of coffee and a plate of nectarines and one pancake in front of Sam.

Sam smiled his thank you and just as wordlessly, Dean blinked, his eyes reflected the kind of joy he did not have for years.

Ben sat at the end to Sam's right, his face in hand, elbow on table. He glanced at Sam then sat up.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Ben." she replied patiently.

"Can I have a brother?"

Lisa eyed him like a predator. "Do you want nine months of misery? Cuz if you want a brother, _you'll_ be the one to have it."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Mom!"

"Don't you 'Mom' me, Benjamin Braden. And don't you have a paper you're supposed to work on this weekend?"

Ben pursed his lips and shook his head. "It's just about the Mason-Dixon Line. Not that big a deal."

Sam choked on his coffee and stood so fast, he knocked his chair over. "What did you say?"

Ben shrugged. "What?"

"My God," Sam rushed out the kitchen and into his appointed room. He whipped out his laptop, turned it on and waited, breath held. Roxi hung at the door, ears perked.

Dean joined her a moment later. He leaned against the doorpost, arms crossed, expression calm. "Sam, you gotta quit scaring me like that."

"I'm-I'm sorry," Sam did not meet his brother's eyes. "Mason, Mason, Mason," he whispered. "Supposed to remember Mason." Sam's fingers hacked at the keypad like miniature axes. His eyes roved wildly as he read one page then another, searching as though someone's life depended on it.

Dean didn't like this; what went up always came down. Abby warned him of his brother's instability. Dean brushed it off as not more than a few mood swings. Now he realized what she meant.

"Mason. Mason," Sam repeated. "Crown stone. There. I knew it." his breath came quick and shallow, eyes frozen on the laptop.

Dean moved from the front of the bed to Sam's side and looked at the photograph of a block of stone with a single M carved into its face. The stone, weathered and old, nestled amid a trio of trees a few yards from an abandoned red house.

"Sam?" Neither movement nor response indicated Sam's thought processes. Dean left the room and returned with a pad and pen. He set the pen in Sam's hand and held the pad himself. "Sam, just write it down, bro. Write it out. Write it out."

Sam rewarded Dean's patience with an initial scribble, starting with his name _Sam Winchester_ _maSoN. maSoN. _A long line of words and a formula followed. Just before Sam lost hold of the pen he scrawled _Westville MASDIX Line mi 43, 1765. Delaware._

He bowed over and spoke softly but clearly. "They filled my veins with acid, roasted and ate me alive." His mind crumbled and Sam wept. Dean dropped the pad, pushed the computer aside and gripped his brother tightly.

**Sorry about the length; had to get Dean and Sam to Indiana. ^-^**


	11. Breakfast In Indiana

**A/N Sorry for the delay. This took a little longer... there's more fluff here than anticipated, but hey, the characters need a break from torment now and again, don't they? Um, cuz, um, the next chapter... yeah, not so sweet and fluffy. ;)**

Breakfast In Indiana

Pancakes again; light, fluffy and hot flipped off the griddle and onto Ben's plate first, then Sam's. Ben begged to have breakfast for dinner. Lisa's evening meeting at the college where she taught yoga, left the two-and-a-half men by themselves.

Dean timed his cooking to Ozzy Osbourne's *Paranoid*. He fried up bacon and heated the maple syrup. He served hot coffee for himself and Sam and hot cocoa with baby marshmallows for Ben.

"Dude," Ben called over Ozzy, "you're giving your kid brother coffee and serving me a girl's drink? I'm thirteen!"

Dean gazed at the boy over his shoulder, green eyes bright with a life-light he's not had in years. "You don't have cobwebs in your brain yet, kid. When you hit that point, then you can have coffee or Rockstar, Monster or Red Dew to your heart's delight."

Ben tried that sly smile that pushed his mother to give in occasionally. "And beer?"

Dean glanced at Sam as though asking permission. "Before you're twenty-one? Sure. When the devil wears a tutu and ballet slippers." it warmed Dean's heart to see Sam silently laugh at his joke.

"It's not funny!" Ben pouted. "This is my LIFE we're talking here!"

Sam and Dean smirked, "Yeah, right."

Ben clapped his hands to the sides of his face, shook his head and moaned in defeat. "I can't believe you guys just gave me the Double Mint."

Just to be annoying, Dean started singing with Ozzy. Ben groaned, tossed his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. But Ozzy's song ended and Godsmack filled the house with a song both Dean and Sam knew and just to push buttons, Sam joined in the 'joyous noise' until Dean heard cars outside.

The doorbell san., Roxi woofed once and Dean left to answer the door. He produced a grey flask as a mischievous smile spread his lips.

Sam hid his grin and ate most of his pancake. He already knew who was there.

Dean opened the door and tossed days-old holy water at their visitors. Camila flared Dean an evil eye and blinked through the spray. Bobby bored his eyes into his surrogate son. Their host smiled innocently.

"Ooops," Dean flashed his teeth. "Sorry. Morning isn't for several more hours. You guys hungry at all?"

Camila slipped past him, bearing the laptop and folders in her arms. Her jaw dropped. "Pancakes and bacon for dinner, Sam? How do you rate?" she set her burden on the chair next to Sammy and snitched a bite of his pancake. Sam stood and hugged her in greeting. She withdrew, hands sprawled over his arms. "Let me make sure you're doing okay." the ghost of his smile said he was good for the moment. Satisfied, Camila turned to Dean as he and Bobby entered the kitchen. "Got coffee?"

Ben lifted his chin. "Dean's all about coffee." he announced.

Camilla snitched another tidbit from Sam's plate, though she noticed he'd eaten most of what he had. "And one for making good pancakes, too, I see." she smiled warmly at Sam. "You never told me your brother could cook, Sam."

Sam flashed a doubtful smile, not wishing to admit he didn't know, either. Deep breath: "So! What drags you guys out this time of night? Ben's video game collection isn't that impressive."

"Hey!" Ben objected.

"Research." Camila answered. She removed her collection of folders and laptop to the table and sat down. Dean wordlessly offered Bobby pancakes and bacon and when Bobby silently no-thank-you'd, Dean plopped down and flooded his pile of naughtiness with maple syrup.

Camila continued, "we looked up the crown stone's coordinates. It's in Delaware, on a chunk of private property that hasn't been used in several years. I'll phone the owners tomorrow, see if we can get permission to, ah, take photographs for a college paper."

Dean silently offered one of his five pancakes to Sam who accepted with enthusiasm. "College, huh? Is that gonna include all of us?" he glanced backward at Bobby, "complete with parental supervision?"

Bobby lightly smacked the back of Dean's head.

Camila eyed Sam as he cleaned his plate. "I could go myself. It'd only take a couple of days." her face solidified into annoyance when Sam shook his head. "Don't you patronize me, Sam! It's not like I'm going into a bar. It's outside, in the middle of nowhere."

Sam sipped coffee. "That's not it, Camila. You're a for-real Electra. But you wouldn't know what to look for any more than I would wall-papering Dean's house with my presence."

Camila shrugged. "Okay, what do you hope to find?"

"Won't know until I get there and get a feel for the place."

She frowned. "I'd prefer you'd stay here with Dean. Bobby and I can check it out, take photos-"

"Camila-"

"We'll even take the dogs, if it'll make you feel safer."

Sam huffed half a laugh and dropped his eyes to his hands. "Yeah, like that'll work. If you remember _last time_ you made that attempt-"

"Bobby will be with me," Camila insisted. She pursed her lips. Sam's eyes lit with mockery.

"Marco will 'home-run-it' all the way back here the minute you guys stop to take a peepee. Just like she did in Omaha. Now I can ride with you and Dean with Bobby and we'll take Marco."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean interrupted. "What's this of you riding with Camila?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, okay. I'll ride with Bobby, then. Not that big a deal..."

"Sam, we're taking the Impala."

Sam's face turned blank. "The what?"

"What? You think I'd get rid of her just because I hang up the keys? No way." Dean fingered his coffee cup, his face scrunched into disbelief.

Sam glanced at Camila. "I-I thought you and Lisa had just one car-"

Dean sat up, "Sam, don't you remember the Impala?" a chill crossed Dean's back and he sent his eyes past Ben into the darkened back yard. How long was Sam in Hell again? Three Earth years? Three hundred and sixty years in the cage. Dean swallowed hard. "Well, you and me will drive to Delaware in the Impala tomorrow. We can take Marco." Dean's gaze grew distant with a hint of sadness. The kitchen fell quiet until Roxi trotted in, sat down next to Sam and yawned. Dean panned his eyes left, checking time on the flower clock above the sink. "Time for bed, Ben."

"Aww, Dean!"

"Ten P.M., Dude. Your mom would kill me if I let you stay up another half an hour."

"Fifteen more minutes," Ben insisted.

"Sorry, Dude. Not negotiable. Not on a school night."

"I wanna hear what you guys are gonna talk about!" Ben attempted to pierce Dean with his eyes.

Dean leaned forward, his expression pinned the boy with practiced inflexibility. "No. You don't."

The way Dean moved reminded Sam of the dusk; that point of time where everything reflected the dying light of day. It crept from the horizon.

That was wrong. There really was no horizon in Hell. No sun. No moon. No stars. No water. Endless landscape filled with suffering.

Ben's eyes flitted to Sam for aid. But Sam's mind fell lost in the shadows of things no thirteen year-old ought consider.

_Machines. _Yes. There were _Machines. Unspeakable. _Nameless because no Human had the capacity to describe them. _He ran from them all the time. All the time. And Sam recalled great halls with vaulted ceilings. These places, these chambers were lairs where insidious things lay in wait. Their bodies moved and lived in the walls. The flooring often shot up with spikes; stalagmites which sprouted like needle-sharp pinnacles. The stalagmites erupted with a brand of their own horror. They rose into hell with one or more souls impaled upon their surface. Such souls, condemned to eternal torment, cling there, ugly, bleeding, squirming. Alive and screaming._

_Faces stretched from the ceilings; faces with eyes and mouths. Sometimes they'd screech and shatter the sanity from the unraped. _

Sweet Roxi nudged Sam's hand and whimpered. Sam's awareness returned to the kitchen light. Camila's hand rested on his shoulder. A cup of hot chocolate sat in front of him. He heard Dean's voice. He followed the familiar sound. Sam batted tears upon his mental return. He shook his head, "_I'm not okay._" Dean's voice filtered into Sam's soul. He didn't quite hear the words but he understood what his brother said. Dean's touch on his hand comforted Sam. "I don't want to sleep right now," Sam said in monotone. "I Just... need to concentrate on something."

They rifled through the stuff Dean acquired from their attackers in Illinois. Bobby took two folders. Dean used Sam's computer to verify information. Sam cataloged photographs and news paper articles while Camila hacked the laptop that once belonged to Dillon.

"Sam," she said after ten minutes of silence, "what do you know about the...P-_Pros...wand Conjunction_?"

"_Proschwin_," Sam corrected. "It's an ancient Sumarian myth that says there are natural gateways between realities and the gateways can be breached during certain day/night intervals rather than the traditional planetary or seasonal conjunctions such as solstice or the blue moon." Sam lifted his eyes from one of Bobby's photos. "Why do you ask?"

"Because according to their record-keeping here, the _Navra Cardio_ can be activated or deactivated by aligning the seals... whatever that means. Seems these guys didn't know it, either."

Roxi lifted her head as someone keyed the front door. Lisa closed and locked the door and confronted the group with an uneasy smile. "Is Ben in bed?"

Dean detached himself from the pile of research and greeted her with a light kiss. "Long time ago. Coffee?"

"Nope. Need some sleep." she smiled, though Dean knew it was only for show. He almost suggested they break for the night when Camila gasped.

"They have reference to the father-son, Sam!"

Dean and Sam both crowded around her. Sam examined the relief of a seal while Dean read the blurb.

"Says the seal was part of a private collection belonging to Francis Hadley... in Delaware."

Sam heard him but kept his eyes fixed on the seal, half of which remained missing. "Pnuma... kentron... enduren... damn. I can't read the rest."

Dean pointed to the text. "Says here the seal was broken during a feud in 1804." he and Sam straightened at the same time, their eyes reflected similar frustration.

Camila looked to Dean. "Is this a dead end?"

"No," Dean frowned. "We're just going to have to keep looking."

Lisa wiggled her fingers at the group. She forced a smile. "It's one A.M., everybody. So... I'm going to bed. Oky dokey?" she smiled hard, hoping the hunters took the hint.

Bobby and Camila departed. Sam stepped outside with Roxi. The night air enveloped him with a sweet chill. He loved staying with Dean but he also missed home with Abby and Mike. Everything moved so fast. Seeing Green Bay in such a desolate state drilled a hole in his heart. Sam ached all over. He did not know if he could keep up with the world or not.

Marco padded up and nuzzled his hand; small comfort for growing fear. Sam searched the stars as tears wet his cheeks. "Save me," he begged.

The sliding glass door slowly swooshed open. "Sam?" Dean's voice softly called.

Sam wiped his left cheek, "I'll-I'll be..." he choked. His brother squeezed his right shoulder. Sam could not meet his gaze.

"Brought your meds, bro. 'Kay?" Sam obediently took them and the small glass of water. He could not return Dean's reassuring smile. Dean squeezed both of Sam's shoulders. "Sam... we _will_ get through this."

Sam nodded and attempted to swallow his emotions but his voice betrayed him. "Dean, what sin did I commit that put me in Hell with the devil inside me?"

Dean half-growled, half-groaned. "Sam, I know you intend to get me started on your meds. But you won't do it tonight. You and Scooby and Snoopy all need to get some sleep. You can pick on someone else your own brain size tomorrow." Dean's eyes turned intense. "Yeah? Come on." He turned Sam to the house and with an arm across his brother's shoulders, dragged Sam and the K-9 Unit into their room.

Dean slept like a rock until the bedroom phone alerted them to the world. He and Lisa moaned to life but it was she who had the phone on her night stand.

"Hullo?" her voice croaked. "Hmm?" Lisa pushed herself up and disentangled her legs from Dean's. "What?"

Her sharpened voice forced Dean's eyes to snap open and called his brain to instant alert status.

Without waking Sam, Dean and Lisa scuttled to the livingroom and flipped on the TV as a lady news reporter stood between the camera and the shocking scene of a leveled city and smoldered, all its sky scrapers resembled melted wax figures. "_...we're still not sure where the storm system originated, where it is going, if it will return or how it came into existence. Once again, Atlanta has commenced emergency shutdown and manditory, city-wide evacuation. Emergency services are stretched beyond their limits and the White House has sent the National Guard to fly victims out of Atlanta."_

The lady reporter returned the story to the news anchor. "_Once again, news reports pour in from all over Atlanta, Georgia following the staggering disaster; twenty-eight inches of corrosive acid has rained upon the city causing death and disaster only the likes of which we've just witnessed following the Green Bay dragon attacks and the eruption of Mt. Fuji in Japan_-"

Lisa turned the TV off. She and Dean sat on the couch, stunned. The one sound between them ticked from the kitchen clock. The morning sun touched the curtains. Lisa sought Dean's expression so she could tell his mood without asking. But Dean, a master poker player, hid everything. She sighed and stood. "Well...I guess I still need to get Ben to school and me to work. Where did you say you were going?"

"Delaware."

"For how long?"

"Hopefully not more than a couple days."

She folded her arms tightly about her. Lisa's long dark hair slipped over her shoulders as she bowed her head. "You're hunting, aren't you? After you said you weren't going back."

Dean slowly shook his head. "I'm not hunting, Lisa."

"Oh really? What do you call what you were doing last night?"

"Investigating." his eyes climbed her body, seeking her tell-signs of mood and reaction. "We're trying to figure out how to stop this."

She sent her gaze to the right, toward Sam's room. "It'll start with this, Dean. But then what? I mean, why not let someone else handle the situation?"

"Because Sam has the key-"

"How do you know he has the key? How do you know he has anything, Dean? I mean... he's _not_ all there. It doesn't take a genius to see that your brother-who's _supposed_ to be _dead_-isn't exactly running on all systems."

Before he uttered an answer, Roxi whined then barked twice. "Roxi?" Dean called with a leveled tone. "Sam?" he called louder. With a glance at Lisa, he left her for the meditation room. Sam was not in his bed. "Roxi?"

The border collie dragged herself from under the bed and whined. She rounded the bed along one side then the other. Roxi waddled under the bed then backed out and hopped on top, clearly confused. Dean furrowed his brows. "What the hell?" Down on his belly, he peeked under and found Sam, penlight in hand, scribbling on a tablet. He barely fit under the bed, chin on the floor, face solid with concentration. "Sam?" Dean asked with a quiet voice. "What, by God's name, are you doing?"

Sam's lips moved silently as his pen raced down the page. Wads of unwanted paper dotted in front of Dean's brother, testifying the length of Sam's stay under the bed. Dean caught one such squished pieces, wormed his way out and uncrumpled the paper. Mathematical and physics formulas. Phrases written in any number of languages and Sam's name written under Mason. Dean decided to take the moment lightly. He crept back under the bed in time to watch his brother rip the current page off the notepad and start over.

"Um, Sam?" Dean counted eight balls of tossed paper and decided to save them for later. "You know, Sammy, if you wanted to leave me a love letter, all you had to do was draw stick figures. You know, with Marco and-and Roxi here and, um, maybe Bobby and Cass. You know? You really work too hard at this whole... communications thing. How about we get some breakfast maybe coffee, watch some cartoons and head off to Delaware? Okay?"

Sam stopped writing. The pen dropped and he laid his head on the tablet. He met Dean's gaze with solid black eyes. "I saw myself in the mirror once."

Dean waited for more. He batted his eyes, uncertain. "Okay."

"I don't think we're related, Dean. I think someone lied to you and then lied to me."

"Sam-"

"Because humans and freaks can't come from the same source."

"Will you please quit calling yourself a freak and come out?"

"Why did you let me live, Dean? How long have you known about me?"

Dean stared, unsure how to handle this. Was Sam volatile at this point and ready to explode, or melt into a puddle of distress? "You know, Sammy, I'd love to discuss this. I really would. But right now, I'm starving to death and you _really_ need your meds." Sam wormed his way closer to Dean and Dean tried to figure out how his brother managed under the bed at all, let alone move around. Stranger still, he stared straight into Sam's black, black eyes and neither fear nor revulsion bothered him. Yet had Sam been anyone else-even Bobby- Dean would be reaching for the demon knife.

"_The devil was inside me, Dean. I can't be your brother because only a monster can contain a monster._"

"That's not true, Sam." he answered quietly. He read intense confusion in Sam's face; his brother's full attention rested with him. "But I am not going to explain that until after we've had breakfast. Until you've had your meds and we're on the road to Delaware. Okay?" Sam gently touched his face and Dean instinctively leaned into it; weird as the moment was. Sam slowly blinked, lightly smiled and withdrew to the outside world.

Lisa fed them a good breakfast. Sam drank two cups of coffee and ate as many biscuits as his brother. Ben, on the other hand, moped as he chewed his food and tried to read the crummy history book.

He pinned his eyes on Sam. "Sam? Can you bring me back some sorta photo or something from your trip?"

"Of the crown stone?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, sure. Oh, um, would you mind keeping an eye on Roxi for me?"

Ben blinked. "Really? I can watch Roxi?"

Sam nodded. She's not... you know... happy with a lot of travel and -" he cleared his throat. "And I think she'd be happier if she had a nice comfy bed to uh, to sleep on. Is that okay with you?"

Ben's face lit with joy. "Can I, Mom?"

Lisa rolled her eyes and nodded.

Sam gestured with his fingers for her to approach. Lisa stood between Sam and Dean and Sam called Roxi. The border collie obeyed, eyes both pleading and happy. "Lisa, give me your hand," Sam instructed. He took it and laid it on Roxi's head first then under her chin. Roxi sniffed Lisa's hand then kissed it once. Sam ran his thumb over the sweet dog's eye. "Roxi, protect," he said softly.

He did the same with Ben.

Camila and Bobby arrived just as Dean finished packing. Camila brought a package of rawhide for Marco and Dean pursed his lips.

"Um, that's not gonna make her slobber in the back seat, is it?"

"I don't know," Camila answered with a leveled voice. "Are you boys ready? We'd better get your precious car and head out."

Dean rode with Bobby again while Sam and Marco occupied Camila's jeep. Sam kept shifting nervously in his seat. Marco poked her head between the seats and licked her nose. Camila glanced at Sam then pinned Marco with a frown.

"Alright, you two. What's going on?"

"What?" Sam asked innocently.

"You're fidgeting, Sam and making Marco nervous." She paused for a red light and gave him a full-on expectant stare. He tried to shrug his way out of her scrutiny. "Not going to work with me. You know that."

Sam frowned and fessed up. "I owe you an apology for that argument over Alex."

"No you don't."

"I know that he's your partner, Camila."

"Sam, he's a dangerous hunter. I know that. And I'm sure you spat and argued because you were worried about my safety."

She flipped her wipers on as rain splattered the window. Indiana was a pretty state, but Camila preferred her territory cold and crisp. "I think it's sweet." she added after a moment. She caught Sam's quick smile. But his body language still read unsettled. Camila followed Bobby's truck into the storage lot. "I know you're probably still nervous over Dean, _Mason_. But he's a good guy. I give him hell because he takes it well-and so do you. I've seen how he is around you; he's comfortable with himself. So, just be your usual charming self. You and Marco." she patted Sam's knee and parked the jeep behind Bobby.

Sam unfolded his form and let Marco out before reaching for his bags. Dean lifted the storage unit's door, revealing an aggressive car blanketed by a heavy tarp. He glanced at his brother as Sam led Marco to the unit. Dean smiled but the light and happiness in his eyes said everything.

Yanking the tarp off the Impala, Dean ran his hand over the car's top then invited Sam to approach. They rounded the backside and Dean popped the trunk where Sam laid his stuff. Dean hesitated before closing the hood. "'been five years, Sammy. I never thought..." Dean pressed his lips hard and his eyes roamed the unit.

He cleared his throat. "I never thought we'd be here again, you know?"

At a loss for words, Sam mutely nodded. He felt nothing for the Impala. It brought no memories back, if that's what Dean expected. But Sam respected his brother's love for the car and he appreciated that Dean had good memories.

Bobby's voice called off the moment. "If you two are done making out, me and Camila would like to get started!"

Sam grinned and left the trunk for Dean to close. Marco hopped into the backseat and panted with excitement. Dean eased into the driver's side and with a grin shot at Sam, he slipped in an Iron Maiden cassette tape.

Sam eyed him with some disbelief. "Cassette tapes, Dean?"

"All the more to annoy you with, Sammy!" Dean rolled out and followed Bobby and Camila. Chills covered his skin when his brother gave him that signature Sammy smile-the one that bounced from frown to grin and back in two seconds.

Dean drew a deep breath, taking in the Impala's scent, the most familiar thing in his life and there was his brother; not a ghost, not a memory. Not anymore.

They stopped at one place for gas, another for on-the-run food. By eleven A.M. the four hunters plus the pooch headed out of Indiana. Four hours along the back roads led them into Ohio. Dean switched tapes to AC/DC and his heart swelled when Sam laughed at his attempt to sing. This was a different Sam. He was not someone who hated hunting or mourned for his murdered girlfriend. He was not someone who had issues with their father. He did things even Dean did not expect (falling out the window, writing under the bed). This Sam came with surprises at every turn. This was his baby brother, but a brother long since lost to the shadows of grief; broken and swallowed by darkness. Sam had none of those memories-not at the moment. Dean did not want to think about the instant Sam starts to recall their life after Cold Oak, or even before. They had enough heartache to last eight lives. Right here, they had a fresh start; craziness and all.

They took a break in Dudley, West Virginia. Sam and Marco slept hard through Ohio but the second the Impala's speed dropped, Marco lifted her head from Sam's lap. She yawned and nuzzled Sam's jaw.

"Hey," Dean said to her, "You'd better hit the back seat, girl. I am not getting a ticket just because you think you can drive." Dean followed Camila and Bobby into a shopping outlet as Marco slipped to the back seat. Sam roused with a deep breath and batted his eyes against the glaring afternoon sun. "Hungry?" Dean immediately asked.

"Hmm?"

Marco poked her head over the seat and panted. "Mrowoww-row."

Dean feigned a start. "Geeze, Marco, you sound like a dying cat!" he parked his baby along the nearest stretch of grass and Sam immediately set Marco free. Sam hung back with the car and dog while Dean met up with Bobby and Camila a few yards off. Camila grinned at Sam who gave her an exaggerated yawn.

"Driver needs to eat," Dean said in greeting. "And I gotta feed Sammy."

Bobby adjusted his hat. "We won't hit Delaware 'till tomorrow whether we try to drive all night or not. Might not hurt t' get about five hours' sleep then take off again. How's Sam?"

"Out cold. Or was. You doing okay, Camila?"

She nodded. "As long as we stick to the back roads, I won't get nervous."

"'bout what?" Dean's eyes dipped to the hollow of her neck and the necklace thereon.

"The Network, Dean."

They settled for a small Italian restaurant tucked between two empty stores. Dean ordered light soda for himself and Sam and a child's plate of spaghetti for Marco. Camila ordered a personal calzone and Sam and Bobby each had a dish of shrimp and crab tortelli Romana. Dean devoured a deep dish personal pizza.

Camila dabbed her lips with a napkin. "The Network came to life about a year ago. Though, Sam thinks it's been around longer than that."

"About three years," Sam muttered.

"But it's not been fully operational until recently. By function, it's a support organization that gives hunters assistance, such as medical or how-to... sometimes even financial. On the front it looks good. I mean, they claim to be the hunter's best friend; always looking out for those who look out for everyone else."

Dean eyed her hard. "If it sounds too good to be true..."

"Right. And that's pretty much their standing rep. The guys Sam and I know have disclosed private emails from people _they_ know who have disappeared, supposedly after visiting the Network's base of operations. Beth Sopher, Allen Stovensen, Keven Reah... all people _I_ know who have disappeared. Beth, whom I've known for three years, said she believed something was tracking her down and never stayed in one place more than two nights, whether or not she finished a job."

Dean nodded. "You think the Network is guilty?"

Camila ate a bite. "People who get involved with the Network usually do very well at first. They get all the medical assistance they need-including dental. They are given tips and specialized weapons-"

"Like the black salt," Dean again assumed. Camila deeply nodded. "How did you get it?" he watched her and his brother share a knowing smile.

Sam sipped his Sprite. "They call themselves 'Benny and the Jet'. Nobody knows their real names. But they are wanted by the Network for questioning regarding twenty-five missing _tons_ of black salt."

Dean blinked. "They're good."

"They're very good," Camila agreed.

Dean glanced between Sam and Camila. He took another mouthful of dinner. "How did you get into hunting, anyway?"

Camila batted her lashes and tilted her head so that her white hair draped over one shoulder. "I'm surprised Abby didn't tell you." she shrugged at Dean's smile. "Well, initially, my grandfather on my mother's side. He was the family crackpot. We often visited his place because he put me through college." Camila ate a bit of her food in thought. "I was more interested in history and lore than practical stuff like math or business. And out of sheer boredom, I turned to the air force. Put in two years, flew a few missions over Iraq. I had some personal issues with my buddies and no one took me seriously, so I went AWOL. _Then_ I took up a job in Detroit shipping vaccines. My coworkers went apeshit and um, this guy rescued me. I'll never know who he was, but he saved my life."

Bobby paled. "Whaddya mean you don't know?"

"I got hit pretty badly. Everything was blurry. All I recall was someone else laying me on the grass outside the building. That's when I met Castiel. That's when I discovered the existence of angels."

Bobby looked at Sam who appeared to know nothing of the story. Camila perfectly described the raid he, Sam and Castiel made on the distribution center the same day Dean left for Chicago to get the ring from Death. "Sam, didja know any of this?" Bobby frowned when Sam shook his head. The surrogate father chose not to say anything further, knowing Dean did not want to force memories on his brother. It was a good choice, since Sam, in his mental state, could not afford to carry the memories of such an awful time.

They rented rooms for a few hours to rest before speeding for Delaware. It was enough sleep for Sam. He found it difficult to just sit still in the car. Dean finally pulled off the road and his brother retrieved the stolen laptop from the trunk. Sitting with his back to the door, shoes off, feet touching his brother, Sam hacked into the computer in fifteen minutes. His fingers tapping furiously to Godsmack's "I Am".

"Dude!" Sam exclaimed. "You should see the crap these guys have gotten into!"

"Oh yeah?" Dean turned the music down a few notches.

"According to this, they thought they found three pages belonging to the real Necronomicon."

"No way!" Dean blinked from Sam to the highway.

"Yeah!" Sam's grin could not be wider. He cracked up, laughing hard. "Get this: '_Page 240c indicates the possible whereabouts of the Draconis Medalia, which contains a minute sample of dirt from Kur."_

Dean bubbled with amusement. "The Necronomicon. Honestly, are those guys for real? If there were such a thing, we'd already be on top of it." Dean muttered further while Sam kept reading. When his little brother fell too quiet, Dean glanced at him as they approached Tioga, West Virgina. "Sam?"

"Yeah-huh?"

"You're too quiet over there. You're not looking at their porn, are you?"

Sam lifted his eyes, a glint of mischief back-lit the hazel-green. "And if I did, do you think I'd share?"

Dean could not answer. He failed to suppress the broad smile and kept his eyes firmly on the road. He hoped Sam did not read that as admission. Dean managed to clear his throat. "What-ah-what else have you found?"

"Mm? Well, I thought it was odd that they were looking for references to Kur. I thought I'd see what else they had."

"Okay. So what's Kur?"

"Well, in Sumerian mythology, Kur was the home of the dead. The underworld, Kur, is the void space between the primeval sea called Abzu and the earth."

Dean glanced. "The Water Gates?" he surmised.

"Right."

"So, this... object they were tracking down supposedly has dirt from this Kur? And for what?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure, except that their notes indicated something about Stone Mountain."

Dean blinked. "That's in Georgia."

"It is? It's real?"

"Yeah. Dad had a job there once."

Sam glued his eyes to Dean. Suddenly they were strangers again. _Mason_ tried to remember what his (Dean's) father's name was. James? Jacob? John? John. Dean and Dakota talked about John Winchester. That person, related to Dean, was only a ghost in Sam's life. It was a reality that did not exist in his memory. Sam heard Dean call his name but he could not bring himself to answer. Conflicting emotions confused him and his eyes slid off the laptop. Why couldn't he remember anything of his own parents? Dean never mentioned whether or not they had other siblings. What happened to their family?

As Sam tried to lift the veil of memory, flickers of hellfire flashed behind his eyes. Dean called him again, his voice distant. No memory of anything beyond the highway. _Hellfire screamed at him, drained him of all hope. On his knees, Sam lifted his face toward a nonexistent sky and longed to cease to exist. He batted his eyes against the hollowness in his soul. He belonged to no one. He walked down an empty stretch of highway and no one came to claim him. Lost. Lost. _Sam struggled to drag his mind to the present and struggled to decide how to deal with the sense of alienation.

"Sam, don't make me pull off the road so I can glare at you." Dean tried to read his brother off the laptop's light. No go. He squeezed Sam's ankle and finally his brother sighed. "Sammy? Out with it."

"I don't remember." he mourned. Sam tried to put the name to a face but his head conjured memories of fire, blood and darkness. He remembered sadness and despair so deep, his soul bled. He tried to swallow back tears. He grit his teeth. He tried to breathe. "S-stop...Dean, stop the car, please."

"What?"

"I have to-I can't breathe."

Dean spotted Marco sitting up in the back seat. Her floppy ears perked. Sam closed the laptop and turned to sit properly. "Sam?"

"Please stop the car, I can't breathe. I can't breathe-Dean-" he flattened his palm against the window and gasped for air. He pushed against the dashboard. "Dean! Dean!"

Dean made double sure there were no other cars behind them and veered off the road. Sam's door opened and he tumbled out, Marco leapt closely behind. Dean just barely parked the Impala before he jumped out and rounded the car. Sam fell to his knees and curled his form inward. Marco pressed her body close to him and whined as Dean knelt before him.

"God, Sam!" he squeezed his brother's shoulders as Sam panted between weeping and hyperventilating. "Hey, look at me! Sam! Sam, you're here with me, bro. Look at me. Look at me, come on." his brother shuddered, begging. He grasped Dean's hands and his breathing evened a little. His eyes climbed until they met Dean's. It hurt to see the absolute loss in Sam's eyes; hollow and hopeless.

"I can't look back," he barely said. "It's always there, just under the surface, just under my skin. And no one... can save me."

Dean needed no explanation. He gripped Sam fiercely, one hand at the back of his brother's neck. He recalled Alistair's taunt several years ago; that Dean left a part of himself in Hell. Dean searched the sky as dawn encroached upon the world. Sam trembled in his arms. He'd calm one moment then shudder with tears the next. "We'll just wait it out, Little Brother," he said soothingly. "Just let it run its course. That's all we can do. Take a deeper breath, Sam."

"I didn't remember the Impala," Sam mourned. "I don't know anything."

Dean withdrew and brushed his brother's wet cheeks. "Is it really important to remember?" he quietly asked.

"It's important to you. You're my brother-"

"No, Sam," Dean corrected. "It's not important to me. You know what is, though? Huh?" Sam dropped his eyes and Dean tilted his head to regain visual contact. He smoothed the back of Sam's hair and rested a hand on the back of his neck. "What's important to me is _you_. That's all I care about. I got-" Dean's chest tightened with oncoming emotion. He blinked, took a breath to regain vocal control. "I got my _family_ back. Memories are events, Sam. That's all. What matters is the person who's there-the person who's here right now. I got you back, Sammy! I don't give a damn about anything else." he shrugged. "I really don't. So, so what if you don't remember? We got a second chance to make new memories-better ones." Dean nodded toward the rottie. "You, me and Marco."

There it was. There was Sammy's smile. Sam bowed as his breathing eased. Dean looked at Marco who panted and blinked against the predawn sky.

Camila and Bobby wanted to crash another few hours at the nearest motel. Dean invited them to do so but he wanted to press on and sleep-crash in Delaware. Bobby removed his hat, winced and scratched his forehead. Camila scrutinized Sam with her eyes. His mind drifted someplace else as he watched Marco sniff around for a good spot to pee. The rest area they encountered welcomed visitors with restrooms in disrepair. A local map hung illegible, long since obliterated by graffiti. Picnic tables sagged and flaked, covered in a substance no one wanted to guess.

Neither Bobby nor Camila dared ask about Dean's unexpected stop off the road a few hours ago. Each hunter already supposed the pull-over involved one of Sam's meltdowns resulting in a private moment between John Winchester's sons. Bobby momentarily wondered how John might react had he known anything of his sons' lives after his departure.

Camila rolled her eyes over Dean's stubborn streak. "I guess I can grab a few energy drinks at the next gas station. I don't want to leave you two without back up."

Dean looked lightly annoyed. "We got the dog. How much more back up do we need?"

"She's crappy with a rifle, Dean." Camila argued. "Alright. We keep going. But Dean, the minute we shadow Delaware, we're testing mattresses."

The Delaware state line did not show up too soon. Dean and Sam long since slipped into an exhausted silence. By the time they encountered the nearest blink-and-miss-it town inside the state line, Dean was dreaming with his eyes open. He saw things along the roadside that should not exist.

Seashell Motel welcomed the group with several downstairs rooms and few, if any cars. Bobby went to the front office to register. Camila grabbed bags and let Marco out the backseat to tend to business. Dean just drifted to another dream of Bella, screaming profanities at him from hell when Bobby popped up from nowhere, room key in hand.

The word 'idgit' sounded from nowhere before Dean tossed keys on the TV, kicked off his boots and passed out as cold as his exhausted brother.

_Dean sat in the kitchen waiting for his mom to cut the crusts off his sandwich. She wore a beautiful white dress like the Good Witch, Glenda. Her blond curly hair slid gracefully over her shoulder as she poured him a glass of juice. She sat at the table and stirred sugar in her coffee. "Dean, Sweetheart, I want you to know that we don't have Sam anymore."_

"_What?"_

"_We sent him away."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because he's the devil's son, honey. And you do not need to play with him anymore. You have plenty of other toys and friends to play with. So we sent Samuel away."_

"_You can't even say it, can you, Mom? It's Sammy."_

_She sighed wearily. "Dean, you don't need to do this to yourself anymore. Put away Sam's photos. Sell his toys. He's a big boy and someone else will take care of him so you can live, Dean. Walk away from it. It's not that hard to walk away."_

"_I can't. He's a part of me."_

"_Your father did that to you. But all that's done and over with, Dean. You don't have to be responsible anymore. After all, Sam's the one who left you on more than one occasion-"_

"_For different reasons, Mom. And it wasn't because of me. He wanted to get away from Dad and he ran from himself and ran from his future. Can you blame him? Sam was destined to destroy the world. I'd try running away, too. But he always came back to me-"_

"_Dean, don't do this to yourself. Please. Please. Just leave him a note and walk away before he ruins your life. Again. Just as he's always done."_

"_You once said that he was my baby brother. That means Sammy belongs to me. You want me to just... how could you say that?"_

Dean woke with an aching heart. He batted tears from his eyes and realized he was not in the bedroom. He was not in bed with Lisa. At first the unfamiliar surroundings frightened him. Scanning right to left, he took in the aging room, the old TV set and a dirty carpet. Further over lay Sam in the other bed. Marco lay next to him, eyes open, ears twitching. Sam whimpered softly and his right hand jumped. His fingers trembled. Marco laid her muzzle on Sam's hand and his breathing slowed. Tension in his shoulders dropped.

Dean silently dressed and stepped out to clear his head of jumbled thoughts and bad dreams. Dreams of his mother always, always hurt most. And he'd be lying to himself if he said he never dreamed of conversations between he and Mary about Sam. Heartsick, Dean shuddered, grateful for the crisp morning air. His eyes glued to the Impala and realized that it's been years, literally, years since he drove her such a long distance.

Stull Cemetery.

Dean wished it suddenly ceased to exist. He wished he had the ability to wipe it off the map and out of everyone's memory. Yet, how ironic and fitting it was that Lucifer and Michael both ended buried there. In Stull Cemetery. In Lawrence, Kansas.

A figure leaned against the Impala's backside. A familiar tan trench coat fluttered. Fluffy hair feathered with the breeze. With a good breath to quell his upset stomach, Dean joined Castiel as the angel stared across the highway toward a quiet wooded area.

"I wanted to wait until you've had enough sleep." Cass said without preamble.

"Yeah. Thanks." Dean slid his hands in coat pockets and watched as a squirrel found purchase on a tree branch and stuffed its cheeks. "So what brings you here? How'd you find us?"

"Camila. She doesn't have the protection symbols you and Sam have."

Dean hadn't thought of that. It could mean trouble later on. "Well, I'm sure you're not here just to reminisce over the Impala. You here to check on Sam?"

Castiel's blue eyes pinned Dean. "Is he unwell?"

Dean frowned and sent his gaze elsewhere. "He's just... I dunno. I mean, he's not sick, if that's what you're asking. So what brings you here, Cass?"

"Contraband."

"Excuse me?" Dean's brows shot up and he met the angel's steady gaze.

Castiel handed him a large heavy envelope. "Technically, I'm not supposed to be here at the moment. But I knew you and Sam would need help. So I gathered a few things for you. Don't open it out here, Dean."

Dean nodded and inserted the envelope in his coat. At first he thought about saying the usual good-bye before Castiel disappeared. But Dean merely lingered next to his angel friend. Emotions warred within him; the stubborn Winchester fought with the frightened, uncertain man whose brother came back from the Apocalypse with a bad, bad case of PTSD.

Maybe he should have listened to everyone around him and walked away from Sam. But how could he?

"You know, Dean," Castiel said softly, "you were not the first choice to be Sam's brother."

"You reading my mind or something, Cass?" Dean asked sharply.

"No. I was just thinking about Sam."

"Whaddo you mean I wasn't the first choice?"

Castiel turned wholly to his friend. His eyes softened. "My father chose you to be Sam's brother because you were the best option. Just not the first. God knew millions of years ago, that you'd be the best person to take care of Sam. And because of you, Sam had the strength to defeat the devil." Castiel's eyes tracked a woman jogging along the highway. Her black setter trailed by a leash. "So rather than giving you a sister, you were given Sam."

Dean scoffed. "A sister?" he shot his gaze left toward the motel office. "What about the whole 'destined-to-be-such-and-such' crap?"

"Family is not limited by blood, Dean."

"Yeah. Whatever. So... who was the first choice?"

Castiel's eyes turned icy. "Max Miller."

Dean's heart stopped and his veins turned cold. All his life, Sam depended on Dean being there for him. Dean depended on Sam to keep him going when things turned warm, brown and squishy. Max? Max? The blood drained from Dean's face and chest. "Max... Sam would have ended up dead one way or another."

Cass nodded. "Exactly."

Dean faced their hotel room and ran fingers through his hair. "Awe, Cass. I don't know if I can pull this off. I mean, it's not been impossible, but I feel like I'm constantly being thrown a curve ball."

"You mean your brother is unpredictable."

"That's an understatement."

"You can still pull out, Dean. It might hurt Sam at this point, but he'd understand."

Dean snapped irritated green eyes at the angel. "Oh, you think so? Have you actually spent time with him, Cass? No. I'm way beyond the point of pulling out now. It's just that... I just don't know if I have what it takes to help him out."

Castiel offered a real smile. "I think you've done just fine, Dean. You've gotten this far. I think you'll be okay. Be careful here in Delaware, Dean. I'll try to stay as close as I can. But we're... things are just crazy everywhere."

Dean wanted to ask the angel what that meant but a four-legged 'lady' padded straight to Dean. Her tailless bottom wagged and she panted in happy greeting. "Marco? Is Sammy up?" Dean realized how silly it was to ask questions to a dog. But Marco answered with a sneeze. Dean glanced right, expecting Castiel's absence. But the angel, who held a smile, watched the rottie. She pranced and chased her bottom for an itch until Sam staggered out, jacket on and hair in his eyes. He rubbed his face and would have passed Dean had Big Brother not caught his arm and tugged him against the car.

"Whoa there, Paul Bunyon. You're off your horse and left your brains on the pillow." he found amusement in Sam's bleary, barely-awake and confused expression.

Sam did not recognize the man next to his brother, but he thought the blue eyes had to be fake. They were far too blue, too intense to be real. "I told the birds that attacking New York was a bad idea."

Dean batted his eyes. "What?"

Castiel took that more seriously. "What birds, Sam?"

"Um..." Sam closed his eyes and unintentionally leaned against Dean. "Um, the _Corvus_."

Castiel stood directly in front of Sam and wiped hair from his left eye. "Sam," he said softly, "the _Corvus_, did they say where they were going if not to New York?"

"Sssyr'cuse."

"Syracuse?" Castiel repeated. Sam's knees gave out and both Dean and Cass caught him. Castiel blinked at Dean. "A little too much medication, Dean?"

"No," Dean frowned. "Just a really rough night." he laid a hand on his brother's cold face. "Lemme get him inside-"

"Just open the door, Dean." Castiel tucked Sam close to his chest. The angel wrapped one arm about Sammy's back, the other under his knees. He carefully gathered Dean's brother off the ground. "You need some coffee, Sam," he said softly. Castiel followed Dean in and gently laid Sammy on the bed. The angel pressed his cheek to Sam's, "No dreams," he whispered.

Castiel turned to Dean with emotionless eyes. "Stay off the main roads, Dean."

And he disappeared.

Dean copied his brother and took a couple hours' extra snooze. He suspected they'd need all the rest they could squeeze in. When he woke again, Dean found his little brother awake, lying still, eyes on the ceiling. Marco lay next to Sam, looking like roadkill. The second Dean turned his head, she lifted hers in greeting and stared.

"She misses Roxi," Sam said out of nowhere. He barely turned his head and gazed at Dean out the corners of his eyes.

Dean sat up. "We can send her a postcard." Sam only closed his eyes. "Hey, you up for coffee and breakfast?" a light smile touched Sam's lips and Dean took that as a yes.

They showered, dressed and breakfasted before hitting the asphalt. Dean blasted Metallica, Black Sabbath and Ozzy all in the same trip while Sam continued to read and organize his research. Half way to the Mason-Dixon Line, Dean remembered the unmarked large envelope. He pulled off the road for Marco, coffee and gas.

Sam took a restroom break and stretched while Bobby and Camila gassed up their vehicles. He searched for Marco and found her behind the gas station, sniffing among weeds and brush. Sam thought about calling Abby. It felt as though she were an entire dimension away and out of reach.

Sam forced himself to relax. He was safe. Something good was happening in his life. All that good came in the physical embodiment of Dean Winchester. Sam smiled. Dean was awesome. Sam did not think he could ever have asked for a better person to be his brother.

Ever.

Marco froze from sniffing around. Her growl grinded from the lowest part of her throat. She took a bare step toward a thicket of brush nestled against the downhill slope.

Sam swallowed when he could not breathe. "Marco?" he whispered. "Come away. The rabbits have a right to be there." he neared the edge of the asphalt, his breathing increased. Marco's claws lengthened and gleamed.

"Sam? We're settin' sail!" Dean's voice came faint. Sam could not move; he did not want to leave Marco. He caught his breath and all but swallowed his tongue when a hideous beast clomped up the hillside. Marco padded in reverse. She stayed in her 'nice doggie' form, moving away from Sam. The beast popped the joints in its neck and a lion's tail, ending in deadly spikes, snapped to and back.

Sam had seen a manticore before, but not this size, nor with such an intense visage. He wanted to warn Dean to stay away, to say nothing. For the moment, the hellbeast concentrated on Marco who continued to move away from Sam.

"Sam!" Dean stomped round the building and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder.

The fell beast snapped its attention from Marco to Dean. Its eyes flared white-hot and in two bounds, it landed in front of Dean and Sam. Sam moved one step ahead of his brother, but the manticore paid him no heed.

"_You!"_ it bared long teeth. "_What is above and below, moves mountains, builds, destroys, contains plants and animals and is part one thing and part of another?"_

"Sam?" Dean knew his brother had to know the answer.

"I can't answer it, Dean. The manticore has targeted you."

Dean watched Marco out the corner of his eye. He wondered why the hell hound has not attacked the monster. He wracked his brains for an answer. If he could not produce an answer or tried to run, the manticore would have Dean and Sam shish kabob.

**I could not be nice and leave you guys without a cliffhanger. If you know the answer to the riddle, I'd love to hear from you! :D I really, really, really want to thank everyone who's taken time to read and review my humble work! It's so nice to get so much feedback! Seriously! Thank you! **


	12. JU3453

**A/N** This chapter has a little more fluff than intended; hope you don't mind. Sorry it took longer to post than I'd planned; survived a small tornado, lost one job and gained another and found out my BFF is pregnant with twins in the span of three weeks. 0.o Much thanks to CeCe, ArmagonAuthor, supercellchaser, Kazamigorical, Mouseme, Sebe and Aecoris for all your fabulous stories, the drama, the heartache, the h/c and suicide attempts. Don't know about you ladies, but I'm having too much fun!

Tams

**JU3453**

The manticore settle, scrunching its body like an overgrown pussy cat; wings tucked against its sides. It gently scratched an ear with long razor-sharp claws. Dean knew something about manticores but didn't think they actually existed. He leaned closer to his brother. "Why isn't that thing attacking?"

"Um, cuz you have an hour to answer the riddle."

Dean sneered at the mythical beast and supposed the feeling was mutual. He ran the riddle through his head again: "_What is above and below, moves mountains, builds, destroys, contains plants and animals and is part one thing and part of another?"_

Bobby's and Camila's voices muttered fearfully in the background. Traffic came and left until a small crowd of idiots gathered around the gas pumps. Tourists gawked at the freakish beast with a humanoid face. Dean wondered why the police had not yet arrived.

The answer hit him as if he already knew it: "Water," he said abruptly. "Sound good to you, Sam?" his brother nodded. Dean tugged at Sam's jacket and led a step backward. "Good. Good. Cuz uh, you know, water's made of hydrogen and oxygen. That's a no-brainer. And there's stuff that lives in oceans and um, rain comes from the sky... Let's ah, let's just back it up nice and slow."

Marco inched her way toward the beast. Deep growls bubbled from her throat. It wasn't the manticore that riled the hell hound, but police sirens' mournful wail.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean hissed. "Marco. Car. Now."

Sam glanced from the rottweiler to the manticore and back in time to watch Marco's size increase and vanish from ordinary Human eyes. He heard cars skid to a stop. Doors opened and slammed shut. Shouts echoed from all directions.

_Just like the garvell, screaming and surrounding their prey before jumping and devouring, shredding flesh from bone. Red. Raw. Blood everywhere. Bones cracked._

Sam batted off the memory of Hell as police officers charged from either side of the gas station. Sam lost his sense of color and direction. For his brother, however, Winchester luck turned into a nightmare. He tugged Sammy further away as two officers charged the manticore.

No contest. The beast snapped out its wings and moved like a teleporter. Its spiked tail levered the creature's weight when its massive claws ended two lives in one stroke. Gun shots barked. Dean pushed Sam against the store's back wall, brought him down and protected his brother with his body.

The manticore shrieked, oh, God, not unlike the Nazgul. Two more officers lost their lives in spite of powerful shotgun rounds. Another two officers ran after the beast. The manticore whipped its tail and de-brained one man.

All that death in the matter of two breaths. All that destruction before Marco's feet deformed the blacktop and tackled the monster. The two savage creatures wrestled along the ground. Blood rained everywhere. Officers screamed for emergency back-up.

Sam shivered under Dean and startled when beast cat and hell hound smashed through the building wall and trashed the store. People gasped and cried out, too terrified to move, too awe-struck to run away.

Before the beasts found their way outside, Dean hauled Sammy up and all but dragged him round the other side of the store, racing for the Impala. Bobby called for them to hurry. Three feet shy of the car, Dean and Sam dropped when the store's front window shattered and the manticore landed on its feet, sliding backward along the cement. It fanned shredded wings and held one injured back paw aloft.

Sam couldn't get enough air in his lungs. He waited for Marco to attack. The world held its collective breath. The manticore stared into the ruined store. Its tail swung, agitated and hopeful.

An ambulance arrived leading a parade of law enforcement. Dean noticed Camila inched ever closer to her jeep. She discreetly opened the shotgun door and bent her knees, hands behind her back, reaching for a weapon under the seat. Sam lay three feet from his brother. Dean cautiously pushed himself up to close the distance.

The manticore locked its intense gaze, expecting its playmate to bounce out and start a new fight. Instead, law enforcement and animal control dashed to the scene from across the street. They slowed when they encountered the monster.

Taking everyone by surprise, Marco dropped from nowhere and landed on the manticore's back. The invisible hell hound scraped terrible wounds into the beast's back and with her teeth, Sam's dog tugged and yanked at the manticore's left wing.

The mythic beast roared and screamed. Its spiked tail snapped. Bobby bellowed for everyone to take cover as the beast bucked and kicked. Quills from its tail shot out like miniature swords, impaling everything in their path-including Dean's upper right arm. He cried out and rolled to his back. He did not even see Sam scamper before his brother gripped him under the arms and dragged him to the car.

A barrage of gunfire filled the air with so much noise, Sam had to bury his head against Dean's chest to momentarily remind him where he was. He did not see the dog and cat tumble along the asphalt until the manticore's left wing cracked off.

The manticore's thundering wail radiated agony. The distraction gave Marco a split moment; she grabbed the monster's jugular. She locked her jaws around the beast's neck and with all her strength, snapped it. Marco bounced aside as Camila cocked her gun over the Impala's driver's side and fired a special round into the beast's eye. The manticore's head blew just above the muzzle.

Sam paid them no attention. He grabbed two quills lying on the ground and tucked them safely away. He stripped Dean's shirts and made a tourniquet with his own belt. Dean softly moaned as manticore poison ate its way into his bloodstream. He did not feel Sam's knife as he cut a parallel incision from the wound.

Sam sucked out as much bitter poison as he could while the world whirled around them. He heard Camila's fatal shot and someone stranger behind him shouted attention to Dean.

Everything after that moment collided into a tidal wave of confusion. Bobby pulled Sam away from his brother while paramedics surrounded Dean. Police officers milled about the dead beast. They packed around Camila, they crowded Bobby and Sam while other officers taped off the scene. A fire and rescue arrived and checked gawkers whose presence only ghosted the area. Officers entered the demolished store. Reporters arrived and bleeted questions. Motorists and passers by paused and stared.

Incapable of taking everything in, Sam watched paramedics tuck Dean into a gurney. Bobby said something, but his stern voice did not register. Police, cameras and reporters smothered Camila. Marco disappeared.

Dean's welfare haunted him and Sam's fear gripped him cold, locked his muscles and prevented him from answering Bobby's agitated voice. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stay calm. He witnessed worse events than this. He recalled living in places he'd never whisper to another soul. Just... just calm down. Stop shaking! If only he could remember how to call Abby!

The soft pad-scratch of a sweet and faithful dog's paws gently ebbed the noise. A loving nudge nosed its way under Sam's arm and he turned to Marco. Overwhelming relief pushed tears to Sam's eyes and he wrapped his arms around the rottie's sturdy neck.

"Sam," Bobby's voice finally came through. "Git yerself and that mutt in the car right now. We gotta follow Dean."

Using the hell hound's strength, Sam managed to his feet and winced at the crowd pressing around Camila. His eyes found Bobby's as the man found an extra set of keys. "Bobby, we can't leave her."

"Sam, Camila can handle herself. Get in the car right now or so help me, I'll haul you over my shoulder and stuff you in the trunk!"

Doing as told, Sam led Marco round the Impala and put her in the back seat. The second his door closed, Bobby sped off, paving his own road along the empty field beside the gas station property. The Impala grounded and crushed weeds and scrub under her belly until Bobby accessed pavement.

Marco whined in the back seat drawing Sam's concern. He unlatched the seatbelt and twisted round. His eyes fell upon a nasty gash along her right hip. It was not bleeding, but it left her with pain and Sam's heart ached.

"Don't worry, Sweetie," Sam's voice cracked with tearful anxiety, "we'll get you taken care of." his wet eyes roved around the rest of the rottweiler's body. Patches of missing fur and blotches of blood burdened Marco's dark with evidence. Sam swallowed against the fear that Marco might also have been poisoned by the manticore's spikes.

Bobby glanced at the dog through the rearview mirror. "She'll be find, Sam. She's built t'last. Believe me. Hell hounds can take all kinds of punishment."

Sam allowed Marco to lick his hand twice before she settled into the seat. Her eyes blinked several times before she fell asleep. Sam's heart raced with fear for his brother. Chances were no doctor would know how to treat manticore poison.

_Dean punched Sam time and again and again. "Tell me who you are! WHAT ARE YOU?"_

_Sam met his snarling stare with tears in his eyes and blood on his face. "Someone whose soul is worthless. I did this. I hurt you. I will pay for it with my life." the breeze ruffled his hair. Sam spread his arms. His jacket billowed. Hell opened its mouth to receive him._

Dean woke, batting off tears. His heart ached. He about lifted his left hand when something tightened around it. Dean's eyes fell upon his brother. Sammy sat in a chair, his upper body slumped next to Dean. His face hidden in his folded arms as he slept. He held Dean's hand and reflexively tightened when Dean moved.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean's rough voice grated with weariness. The dream left him cold and empty. He tore his eyes to the right; his mind spun between relief to have his brother back and old wounds. Did Sam remembered Ruby or his addiction to Demon blood? What of their broken relationship?

The last question hurt Dean more because Sam did not remember him. Recovering, Dean wiped his scruffy face with his right hand. He swallowed in spite of a dry mouth. His skin ran hot and dry. His heart drummed hard and fast.

A woman's voice cut through the room's thick quiet: "Nice to see you up and alive, Mr. Singer. Your uncle and brother pestered me every fifteen minutes." she raised her brows when Sam sat up and withdrew his arms. "Oh, I should have guessed," she added. "Now, how did you sneak past security after visitor's hours?"

Sam grimaced and slowly pushed himself and the stiff chair from Dean. They caught each other's gaze. Sam lifted the corners of his mouth when Dean winked.

The brunette watched their exchange and kept remaining questions to herself. When she entered his line of sight, Dean realized he had no peripheral vision. The doctor, a plump, older woman with long hair piled atop her head, zipped a pen light across his eyes. The corners of her mouth creased with concern.

"We've called fifty different poison centers and not one of them knew what type of poison you had."

Dean gave her the classic confusion smile, "So why am I still alive?"

"We found a pregnant hairless cat, milked it and fed it to you intravenously."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Ewwe."

Only her eyes smiled, pleased by his reaction. "Actually, your brother brought us quills from which we were able to make an antidote. The strangest thing I've encountered. Certainly going down in my medical journal-"

"Will we have to stay the night?" Sam asked without thinking.

The doctor raised a brow with amusement. "Not you, young man. But your brother here will need a least another seven hours' visit with me. That means you can go home and sleep for five."

Dean gave his brother a full smile. "That's right, Sammy. You can go home, kick back and watch a bit of porn before breaking me out of medical jail."

Sam's stare lingered on his brother before he set his hazel eyes on the doctor. "What if I'm later than seven hours? Will you put him in the refrigerator so that he'll stay fresh?"

She cleared her throat. "I think he's fresh enough. You just go home and get some sleep. Return when you get up."

Reluctance lined Sam's face and doubt creased the corners of his eyes. Dean slowly blinked and nodded toward the door. "I promise to be good," he said softly. He tried to smile more cheerfully when Sam stood and bowed his head.

"Dean, call me?"

"Yeah. I'll call you. I dunno _what_ I'll call you, Sammy, but I'll call." he got the silent nodding agreement. That was more characteristic of the younger Sam than the Sam who BFF'd Ruby. Dean remembered Sam gave the same sign of acquiescence to Abby. Now it belonged to him.

Sam found Bobby asleep in the waiting room. Camila left a note on the table stating she took Marco out for a stroll. Sam pocketed the note and sat in a chair beside Bobby. But the minute he sat, Bobby stirred with a snort and sat up.

"Oh, there you are, Son. Dean all right?" Sam slowly nodded then stared at his hands. "Hungry at all? Or are you more interested in brooding?"

"Dean said to get some sleep then bail him out when I got up."

Bobby removed his cap, smoothed his hair then replaced the hat in one motion. "Well, I don't like leaving him unprotected here. But I guess he'll be fine for a few hours." Sam stared out the waiting room like a cat catching images unseen by Human perception. Bobby traced Sam's direction of sight and saw an unusually tall gaunt woman examining the hospital floor map.

"Sam!" Bobby harshly whispered. He trailed after Dean's brother who scampered out the room like a predator; silent and graceful. He peered round the corner and watched as Sam tracked the woman. She quietly strolled the hall in a tight red skirt and spaghetti string top. Bobby winced when he noticed she had seven fingers rather than five. He produced Dean's 1911 and tagged Sam from a discrete distance.

Sam followed her footsteps; she never touched the floor. Her hair, though dark to the eyes of the ungifted, shimmered a ghastly green-white. Her darkly blotched skin swirled and shifted tones from light to dark and back. He tailed her, keeping perfect pace with her own 'steps'. Suppressing all emotion, Sam waited the one moment when she paused at the door of her choosing. He withheld his revulsion when her face twisted, rolled in on itself and molded into new features.

Sam leapt, knocked her off her feet. They landed on the floor with a thunk. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked hard but she overpowered Sam and pinned him. She hissed and stretched her jaw to an unrealistic length. He squirmed just enough and dodged a stream of smelly poison. Sam rolled hard and shoved her face-first into the floor.

Jumping to his feet, He kicked her to the wall from which she sprang back, long fingers extended with deadly claws. Sam dropped to one side and kicked her in the jaw. She hit the floor with a splat, snapped back and swung her whole body toward him. Sam ducked as her clawed hand sank through the floor's surface. She picked herself up and lunged with a feral growl. Sam barely moved fast enough. She sliced through his shirt and tailed when Sam booked.

BAAM! BAAM! Bobby shot the lock off an Employees Only exit. He jerked open the door leading to an enclosed parking lot. Hospital alarms whooped and dang through the wing. Nurses, security and orderlies ran from every orifice in the hall.

Sam dropped two steps before clearing the safety rail eight feet down. The monster copied his movements while Bobby hobbled along one step at a time. The medusa-monster growled and scraped her obscenely claws along every car in the parking lot. Sam baited her further from potential victims. When the creature failed to keep up with Sam's long strides, it leapt from a car to the ceiling and scampered across like a freakish, white-haired spider.

Sam searched for a chunk of wood; anything with a good point. He spotted a door leading back to the hospital. But that most likely consisted of metal. His eyes climbed up cement walls and skirted the ceiling. The she-it monster grunted, growled and muttered to herself, encroaching with madness on her lips.

Sam spotted a rickety old wooden bench parked nearby an elevator. An ashcan squatted beside it, presumably for smokers on their break. Just as Sam rushed for it, the creature dropped on the roof of a truck with a grunt. Bobby tried to kill it with the handgun.

No go on that account.

Distantly the men heard Marco barking a promise to rescue them. But Sam did not think she'd arrive in time. He attacked the old bench with a concentrated leap. Sam landed with all his weight and strength. Sam broke the bench but failed to procure a weapon before the freaky creature caught up. She rammed for him and Sam bounced out of the way. She crashed into the wall, toppled the bench and broke it further. Ignoring two gashing wounds on her legs, the grey-white creature huffed and growled and pushed back to her feet. She and Sam circled until she charged. Sam pointed at her and she body-slammed into the nearest wall. The monster madly screamed, frustrated and injured.

As the medusa-thing squirmed and snarled, Bobby and Camila called Sam's name.

Sam heard them but trapped in a hazy world of an altered reality, the only thing real enough to penetrate his frame of mind was Marco's oncoming presence. Sam was on the hunt. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else _existed_. The world dimmed into shadows, into places of cold or warmth. Yet... in spite of the fever, the predatory raw instincts holding him in a tight grip of obsession, Sam remembered Dean and remembered how alone he was in the world. Dean could not be here, could not aid him or save him. Sam was the moon without the sun.

"SAM!" Camila called behind him. He did not need to look; his eyes lay on the freakish she-it as 'medusa' squirmed out of his mental grip. It climbed backward up the wall, hissing. Sam smashed the wood into as small fragments as his strength allowed as Marco leapt over a small car and skidded to a halt. She snapped and barked once, stood on her back feet and pawed the wall. The hell hound in her physical form could not reach the creature.

The she-it snarled again and spit poison at Sam's dog and missed. Sammy watched with deep black eyes as the creature waddled hands and feet along the ceiling. It hissed, almost laughing until Camila shot her. Once to the heart. Once to the head. She dropped like a stone, screaming and writhing like a dying bug's reflex motility. Sam sank the makeshift wooden stake into her chest and everyone stepped away, uncertain what to anticipate.

The creature's eyes sank into its head, lips turned white. Her hair disengaged from her head; worms thin like fishing line. Mortified, Camila climbed atop the nearest car as they watched the white creatures disappear into crevices and cracks.

The three hunters stared at the corpse in wordless reaction. Bobby finally found his breath and tore himself from the moment. "Alright," he huffed. "Into the car. Now."

Bobby drove around the hospital several times, up and down all the parking lots, seeking signs of any type or subtlety for other potential threats. Sam hated the dead silence. How could three people be so completely quiet? Marco kept squiggling in her. She nosed the window then sniffed Sam's hair. She stared at Camila who sat shotgun, stared out the rear window. She panted and whined then scratched her shoulder before snitching another kiss under Sammy's ear. Sam ignored her and rubbed his face. He did not want to leave Dean.

Camila finally broke the silence as Bobby paused for a red light. "What was that thing, Sam?" his black eyes did not bother her. Not really. He was still the gentle soul adopted by her family. Camila preferred it, however, when his eyes flashed copper. But they gazed at the world in a sad, dull black.

"I think it was an _es necrohemac_; a type of vampire that drinks the blood of the dead."

Bobby winced. "Shouldn't we have cut its head off, then?"

"Uh, no." Sam hesitated. "I mean, it probably couldn't hurt, but wooden stakes work better." Sam thought about explaining why but decided to leave that out. Hunters seldom want to know the hows and whys.

Bobby pulled into their motel parking lot and shut the car down. "Alright, I'm taking a few Z's. Call me if you hear from the hospital." he glanced over his shoulder. "And Sam, ya better sleep cuz I'll let Dean know if you didn't." Bobby could not hold his gaze on Sam for long; his black eyes were just too... too whatever. Too creepy, too much to see.

Sam silently obeyed. He let Marco in first and checked her water and food supply as she stretched across his bed. Sam removed his shoes when the phone called beside his bed.

"Hello?"

"You're not supposed to answer motel phones," Dean gently scolded. "You're going to sleep, right, Sammy?"

Sam slightly smiled. "Sleep is such a harsh word, Dean. How about _resting_ or a catnap? I just killed a necrohemac before we left the hospital."

"See?" Dean answered as Sam tugged back the covers on what would have been Dean's bed. "You're too famous for your own good. Did you check the salt lines?"

Sam heavily sighed. "No." he set the receiver down and replaced the broken salt line at the door. Before returning to the phone, he double checked previously made lines along all the windows. Now he really was weary. Sam snuggled in bed while Marco stared at him, confused. He was supposed to sleep with her. "Okay. It's okay." Sam said into the receiver.

"Well, that's one less thing I have to harass you about, Bro."

Sam found no comfort in it. But he was glad to hear Dean. "Hey, Dean?" he asked with a weary voice. "Could you tell me about the case Dad worked on when he was at Stone Mountain?"

Confused between delight that Sam wanted to hear, and sad that his little brother did not remember their dad, Dean drew a relaxing breath. "Yeah, I could do that." Dean nestled the phone between his ear and the pillow. "That was back in, um, like '93 or '94. At first there were rumors of a shape shifter haunting the area..."

Sam listened to his brother's voice and envisioned the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia. He thought of Stone Mountain, though he had no idea what it looked like. Little by little, Sam fell asleep to the familiar comfort of his brother's voice

At the hospital, Dean fell asleep, his heart warmed and satisfied that his brother was no more than a few words away.

Several taps at the door roused Marco first. She dropped her jaw in a long yawn, hopped off the bed and stretched the front of her body first, then the back. Taps sounded at the door again and the rottie whined.

"Sam?" Camila's soft voice called from the other side. "SAA-aam." she sang.

He woke from a deep sleep, pushed off the pillow and popped his neck. Marco whined a little louder, dragging Sam reluctantly off the bed. He scuffed across the carpet and opened the door as Camila poised to politely knock again. Marco slipped out for a morning break and Camila stepped in, offering coffee. She did not mind in the least that Sam stood in his boxers.

"Get yourself dressed," she ordered. "We're going to bail your brother and head for the Line."

His face wrinkled with early morning confusion. Sam swept up his jeans and headed for the bathroom. "Does this mean I have to wake up in the car?"

"I did bring coffee."

"I have to take my meds, Camila." he peered round the bathroom door and attached his belt. "I'll need something more than coffee."

Sam closed the door to tend to business and Camila sipped her coffee. "How about a knuckle sandwich?" she said to herself. Marco returned. She gulped up water and crunched several mouthfuls of food before hopping on Sam's bed. She proceeded to preen when Camila's eyes caught sight of Castiel's envelope.

Sam must have changed his mind because she heard the shower and thought it a good idea. Camila leaned against the motel dresser and peeked into the envelope's contents as Marco yammered in doggie-speak and rubbed her back into the bed sheets.

Camila grinned with a snort when her eyes crossed the rottweiler's. "You know," she said to the dog, "someone will not be happy that you're spreading your DNA everywhere."

_Rrrrowrrr._ Marco snorted, rolled over and nibbled at an itch.

Camila examined a folded US map, lined and marked with Enochian. A triangle zig-zagged across the US starting from Georgia to Nevada to Wyoming and back. Embossed at the map's bottom were three medallions, two of which Camila recognized. But the embossments were too small to read the inscriptions. Camila tucked the map back and carefully slid out a folded cloth of metal-purple material. A creepy, unknown symbol glowed and projected itself in thin air three inches off the cloth. When the symbol started moving on its own, Camila decided she rather let Sam handle it. She folded the cloth the way she found it and put it away.

"Camila?" Sam's voice sounded small behind the bathroom door.

She put the envelope aside and stepped to the door, but did not enter. "Sam, are you alright?"

"No. I... the water..."

"I'm coming in, Sam."

"The water's bloody."

Camila opened the door and found him half dressed, kneeling on the soapy floor. His hands lay palm-up on his legs, head bowed. On hands and knees before him, Camila laid a hand on his head. "Sam," she whispered. "This is just a bad, bad flash. You're not _There_ anymore. You're in Delaware with me and Marco."

He shuddered, his voice came in broken whispers: "_I was the devil, Camila_."

She had no answer for that. Her white hair slipped when she tilted her head just so. "They stole your innocence, Sam."

His face melted into inconsolable grief. "I was the devil and..." Sam started rocking back and forth. Tears dripped from his eyes and pooled in his hands.

"Sam," Camila called, "Dean is waiting for us to pick him up at the hospital." the huntress held her composure when Sam gazed, eyes black and mournful.

"I put him there," he said it so softly she almost did not hear.

"No."

"Yes. I broke his heart and shredded his soul-" he openly wept. "-and that's why I went to Hell!"

"Sam! Sam!" he bowed over, weeping and begging for death. "No!" she repeated. "It's not..." Camila knew at this point no one could get through to him. She flipped out her cell phone and rubbed Sam's bare back until the Dean's phone rang. "Hey, it's me. Sam's... um.."

"Just let me talk to him," Dean did not need an explanation; he eagerly waited to dodge the hospital. Nurses handed him papers and flooded him with questions. Camila's phone call saved him from inventing new ways to say the same thing. "Hey, Sammy," he kept his voice calm, using the very tones he made when Sam was either sick or injured. "You know, Dude, I'm dying for you to come pick me up. You and me, we need some coffee, you know?"

Sam barely pushed his voice between sobs. "I-I broke your heart... Dean. _He_ even said so. I don't deserve... _why, why_ would you want me? I was horrible!"

Dean worked his jaw to control his own grief. Was Sam remembering things, or was he irrational? "Sammy, I-I can't remember what you did to break my heart." Dean bit his lip. He mentally hung Ruby's name on a noose and spit in her face. Sam was his again.

The question forced Dean's little brother to wrack his Swiss-cheese brain. A photo flash of Dean smiling flickered across his memory. Dean singing. Dean dashing after something. Dean driving in the thick of night. Nothing more.

Sam slumped off his knees. He took hold of Camila's phone and rested against the bathtub. He met her eyes with a weary gaze, his own eyes melted to hazel-green. "I remember you driving," he said quietly. "I remember you sleep in the bed next to the door." Sam waited for his brain to return to normal. "Marco and Roxi think you're the greatest thing next to Christmas." Sam trembled with another onset of tears. Fighting them did no good. "But I still... get the feeling that I did something horrible... Dean."

"Well, right now, you just saved me from having to fill out paperwork and answer a buttload of stupid questions, Sammy. That's a good thing in my book. Secondly, Sam, lemme ask you this: does the devil talk to you in your head? Do you hear his voice?"

"I remember things he said-"

"Okay. How long ago did he say them?"

"I don't-"

"Know what? Nobody lies like the devil, Sam."

"He said he'd never lie to me, Dean."

Dean's voice turned stern, "Sam! The _Bible_ says the devil is-and I _quote_-"the Father of Lies". You don't get a title like that for verbal transparency! Now you tell that voice-or whatever it is in your head, to shut the fuck up and _get me out of here!_"

Sam and Marco waited at the hospital entrance while Camila walked in. Bobby waited in his truck. They anticipated resistance from hospital security; one reason why Sam and Bobby waited outside. Sam scoured his notes and tags. He read and reread his own thoughts on the Water Gates and tried to relate them to world wide events. The latest reports mentioned bizarre lightning strikes in Russia.

Marco whined restlessly in the back seat. She shifted her weight from one paw to the next and sniffed Sam's ear as a headache crawled over her boy's scalp.

_Mmmrph. Rowrrr errrrowr._ Marco's voice pitched with happiness and Sam raised weary eyes as Dean and Camila emerged from the hospital. Dean greeted Sam with a sunny smile as Camila came to his window. Sam rolled it down and winced at the light reflecting from her hair.

"Sam, you and Dean are taking off. Bobby's going to take me back to pick up my car."

Sam silently nodded and batted his eyes as flashes of Stone Mountain raced unbound through his head. He forced a smile when she departed and Dean shifted his baby into drive.

"Aaah, Sammy, nice to be out of there. Tellin' ya, Bro. No more manticores for me."

Blood spilt from his mouth and Sam wiped it. But his hand came back clean. He turned the rearview mirror. No marks on his face at all. Sam winced with uncertainty.

"Breakfast, Sam," Dean eyed him, suspicious. "You and me, a nice public place with kids, cranky parents and descent coffee." Sam's smile indicated distress. Dean reached behind his shoulder and patted Marco's head. "I'm thinking waffles and eggs, Sammy."

Sam studied the map while he and Dean waited for their order. Marco bounced around outside, dodging occasional traffic. She chased a squirrel up a tree then settled for a nap in the sun.

Dean watched his brother shift nervously. He ordered extra coffee for both of them and made sure Sam took his medicine. Dean figured excitement over the manticore upset his brother in ways Sam was not willing to admit. And Dean was not ignorant of the number of times Sam's gaze contacted the wound on his right arm. The whole "I'm fine" game felt inconsequential. Sam did not ask, Dean did not tell.

Ten minutes after their order, Dean directed his attention to the map in front of Sam. He recognized the states. "Sam, you know Nevada's got that Red Rock Canyon. And there's the Devil's Tower in Wyoming." Dean read confusion and weariness in his brother's expression. He nodded at the map. "It's just weird that someone triangulated them to Stone Mountain there in Atlanta. I mean, why those particular places? Why not places like the St. Louis Arch that your friend in New Mexy talked about?"

Now Dean had Sam's attention in the right direction; off the moment and onto another situation. Sam's face brightened with realization. "Because it's a minor gate," he said softly. "Dean... I think this points to the major gates we've been looking for."

Dean's blood pressure dropped. But breakfast forced the brothers to discontinue their conversation. Sam started right in but Dean paused long enough to tag an eye on Marco who slept contentedly on the patch of parking lot grass. He studied Sam who ate better than at any point in his life. Yet his brother never seemed to gain weight.

Sam paused from his pancake with a light smile. "It's not yours or Abby's but it's okay."

Dean smiled and nodded. Castiel's words railroaded his heart just then. Sam would be hunted for the rest of his life. There had to be a way around that. There _had_ to be a way. Maybe they'd just move to Mexico.

Naw. Mexico's overrun with things Dean knew they did not need to tackle. Canada's fucking cold. But at least in Canada, they had contacts. And Mexico was a lot further from Bobby than Dean liked. He knew at some point Sam would fight him about running; that the hunt was Sam's problem. He'd insist Dean return to Lisa.

_The Twighlight Zone or Home Improvement?_

He ate his breakfast and watched Sam spot Marco outside. Sam did not bother wiping hair from his eyes and wow, just there, that moment, the light hit Sammy's face in such a way as to define the soft shape and color of his cheeks. His dark hair brushed over his eyes in a familiar childlike visage. Sam's distant, troubled eyes pooled with the hollowness of depression. They held a sadness wrought by decades of life in Hell. They begged for comfort, peace and safety.

Dean was wrong about what he said earlier. Sam did break his heart. But it was the broken heart of empathy.

Dean swallowed hard, again thinking of Castiel's words. Sam was given to him. Not just by his father years and years and years ago; but by God long before the universe existed.

_That_ was awesome.

Delaware was a blink-and-miss-it state. After dragging their carcasses across such states as Nebraska and Texas, they breezed through Delaware, taking only a moment to watch local wildlife. They claimed a back road around Hendersen and climbed onto River Bridge/Route 208.

Just like Sam envisioned, they found the Mason-Dixon crown stone on private property sitting among a small clump of trees. Dean parked the Impala in a safe place and trespassed first. Sam copied his big brother and hopped the fence. Marco sniffed around and ran back and forth, free for the moment.

Dean circled the crown stone like a predator, examining it from all angles before squatting in front of it. He studied the unremarkable stone surface, long since worn by decades of hard weather. "It's limestone, isn't it, Sammy?" he asked out of the blue.

"Oolitic limestone. Yeah."

Dean nodded, stood and wiped his hands on his hips. "So, uh, whaddo we do now? Knock? Or ring the doorbell?"

Sam produced the papers given them by Castiel and a page of his own scribbles. His face filled with apology. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find or do once we got out here."

Dean didn't either. He stomped about the long cool grasses, searched the sky, found Marco and spotted Bobby's truck in the distance. He returned to Sam and knelt beside his brother as Sam traced the faded flutes lining the stone on one side. Dean tilted his head to the right, lined the trees with his eyes, up down and back again.

"Sam," he said softly. "This stone is leaning just a little."

"Yeah. Ground probably wasn't leveled when they set the base under it."

Dean examined the base, too. Ancient scratches marred the old flat stone. Dean heard Marco yelp happily as Bobby then Camila parked their vehicles. With a love pat on Sammy's shoulder, Dean rose to greet them. "Not that we're keeping a time table or nothing, but you guys are slacking on the gas pedal."

Camila held her hands up. "Don't look at me. Uncle Jesse here was in front."

"Hey!" Bobby retorted. It was bad enough Dean often referred him to the TV uncle, he didn't need to hear it from someone else. "So what have ya found?"

Dean failed to keep the smile off his face, "a chunk of rock." he flashed his teeth when Bobby bore holes into him with his eyes. Dean nodded toward Sam and the stone.

Camila climbed up and hopped over. It took Bobby a little more time, a little less bounce, but he managed over. Camila hunched next to Sam and handed him a chocolate covered energy bar. Dean arrived to watch a grateful smile sweep across Sam's face and just that hint of a blush as he squirreled the bar into his jacket.

Dean tucked that moment into his heart and in his memory: Things That Make Sammy Smile #42: Chocolate covered Wake Me bar.

"So what have we got here?" Camila asked. She lapped her arms over her knees, hands dangled.

"A rock," Dean reused his joke.

Sam cleared his throat and geeze, if that didn't feel like Dean's brother! "Uh, it's a slab of old limestone with old markings. Dean noticed that it leans just slightly and he found scratches along the base, possibly because it was rotated."

Camila nodded, eyes frozen on the crown stone. She inclined her head left before catching the brother's eyes. "That's it?"

"Yeah," they said in unison.

Dean glanced at Bobby over his shoulder, glad their surrogate father took up watch over the cars, the dog and their backs.

Camila stood and set her finger between her teeth in thought. "Have you tried to push the thing over, see what's underneath?"

Sam tried first.

Sam and Dean tried it together. Camila frowned. "I guess it's part of the base, then."

Dean rolled his eyes and searched the tree tops. "No, we're just friggin' idiots. Sam, scratches along the base." his brother's blank face told Dean he hadn't a clue. Dean gestured turning an object with his hands.

Sam's lips lined and he nodded with realization. He gripped a side and corner and Dean another.

"Clockwise," Dean directed. "Ready? Two. Three-" they pushed and successfully moved the crown stone until it toppled and nearly smashed Dean's toe. Ignoring the near-accident, Dean knelt with his brother and helped him retrieve a round ceramic box. They set that aside and examined the base stone and the crown stone's hollow interior. "Well, I guess that's gotta be it. There's nothing in here, not so much as graffiti."

With a nod, Sam clasped his large hands around the heavy ceramic lid and tugged. It did not easily give but Winchester determination forced the box to reveal its secrets.

Sitting on ages-old cotton, three medallions gleamed silver-black in the daylight. Camila gasped and fisted her hand to keep from touching them.

"My God, is-is that what we've been looking for all this time?"

Sam picked up one, Dean another. While Sam tried to read the markings on his medallion, Dean took note how his contained intricate channels and negative spaces.

"It's like a key," he muttered more to himself.

"Huh?" Sam's eyes crossed his.

"Keys," Dean repeated. "Here, trade." he took Sam's and found similar reliefs and valleys but along different areas. Chills raced up his back. "Sam, did you see this?" they touched shoulders and Dean traced the word with his finger.

"Pateras... yios." Sam searched his brother's eyes: "Father-son."

Dean never clearly recalled the next moment. Camila screamed as the same sonic assault that hit Green Bay cleared the air waves in Delaware. Dean felt the clamorous roar deep in his bones as Sam lunged and dragged him to the ground. The world moved too slowly. Dean's brother enveloped him with his whole body. He heard Sam draw one breath. He heard one heartbeat. The world around them flared and pitched from holy light to unearthly dark. Thundering clashes, super weapons and voices fitting no Human description charged the air. Dean's ears bled. Sam's hand, which held him so securely, fell lax with unconsciousness.

A final thunderclap rumbled along the ground and silenced the air. A soft breeze followed dragging with it the smell of ozone.

Dean turned his head just so and found the world lit with white-hot colors... _And giants walked the earth._ Some _thing_ with wings unlike anything Dean ever saw landed hard. Two sets of blazing eyes settle on Dean. The face of which he could describe only as part lion and part eagle, turned left and right. It spoke with tones both warming and commanding.

Dean's consciousness ebbed. He could not tell if sleep claimed him or if he were passing out. As darkness took hold, he laced his fingers with Sam's and took comfort in his brother's presence.

**Hope I did not get too sentimental for you guys; Dean and Sam's relationship lends itself very well to those 'moments'. I dunno... I can eat that stuff up like candy ;)**

**Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading! ^-^**


	13. Ao Ji

**A/N My muse flipped me off during the writing of this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long to get it written and posted. Don't know exactly what happened. :( So to make it up to you guys, I tried to make it a little longer. I hope it'll be worth the wait. ^-^**

**I pull no punches; violence and language fly as free as a bee in the breeze-does not mean I overdo it, either. I make no apologies for non-sexual affection between Dean and Sam. Several beasts were definitely harmed in the making of this chapter-so sue me. :p**

Ao Ji

Light explosively flashed. Weapons clashed and thundered above and below the heavens. Great wings whooshed. Shapes and voices scattered across reality.

"_Imadradas_."

Dean stirred. He heard his father's voice; distant, distorted.

"_Imadradas_."

A word old beyond ancient; a person? A place? An entity? Sam might know. Moist cool air touched his face. He opened his eyes and met the grey haze of a dirty sky.

"_Imadradas_." spoken as a whisper along the winds of time. "_Not your battle. Not this one. Rest."_

The vague notion of another presence roused Dean's instincts but his senses waxed groggy and unreliable. Sleep drifted upon the hunter, light and soothing. With a deep breath, Dean snuggled close to Sam and slipped backward into comfortable darkness.

Light shot through his head, gutting a road across his consciousness. Dean moaned. His head refused to move. His body lay pasted to the ground like a bug to flypaper. The air cracked and rippled, reeling from the blast of an unknown weapon. An inhuman roar followed and tempered heat trailed behind.

Screams, death-shrieks, strong-voiced commands and the chang-ting of metal forced Dean to lift sleep-leaden eyes.

Two figures assaulted and deflected in a combative dance. Their swords whacked and clanged, sparked and sang. At first Dean thought the defendant, a Human girl somewhere in her late twenties, dressed improperly for combat; training or otherwise. But when her skin glowed silver in light of the battle, he realized she was an angel. The lady-angel moved slowly, like Sammy's heartbeat beside him. Her moves came graceful like an antelope. Her silver-blonde hair flowed soft as though underwater.

The assaulting monster; savage, dark, snarled. It bore upon her with a faceless head. Natural armor covered it horn tip to goat hoof. Long limbs and a dexterous form kept the angel on constant move. Were he writing a memoir, Dean would admit watching angels fight is a beautiful thing; beautiful and terrible. The force and power behind their physical presence was awesome to behold. Even watching Castiel fight fascinated him. The moves were always sharp, definite and aptly controlled.

Another supersonic charge flooded the area, rattling Dean's bones and frayed his nerves. His head buzzed and reeled. His body flared with a psycho-reactive fever and he melted back to the darkness.

"_It's not blame that falls on you, Dean. It is fate..."_

He and Sam; genetically engineered, emotionally and mentally manipulated. Was he destined to live forever under another identity; under Michael's control while Sam died at his/Michael's hands and suffered eternity in hell? Was that all that mattered? Were humans nothing more than puppets or walking costumes to these other creatures? Dean hated to consider how every decision, every action, every word or thought he ever committed moved along a predetermined path leading to Heaven, Hell and angelic enslavement. The thought made him feel less like a person and more like a tool.

"_So if I'm Mickie's vessel, on a pre-planned, pre-determined, preconceived path, what's that make Sam? Huh? Sam is supposed to reflect Lucifer's life? Bullshit. There was no demon egging Luci on. No one coerced him, tricked him into drinking demon blood. Michael never left him, never died for him."_

Dean had to admit, however, that the odds were stacked to the point of impossible. He and Sammy spit 'destiny' in the face and hit the reset button. Dean wanted to take credit for that. But thinking on it, thinking how close everything came, he concluded that what happened in Stull Cemetery was a miracle. It was not luck, fate or angelic intervention that stopped the end of the world.

Sam's faith. His faith in Sam.

Just enough faith to tip the scales, enough to push the devil back. Enough to move mountains.

Now Heaven, Hell and Earth reeled with the aftermath. Cities devastated. Lives stolen, enslaved. Lost. Lost. Nobody won.

Dean's mind resurfaced with semi-awareness; he floated between the real world, brutal memories and cold dreams. His awareness spread across the darkness in Delaware. Sammy remained locked in unconsciousness. Not far from them lay Marco. Further off lay Camila and Bobby. The breath of _super creatures_ hovered in the air...

"_All this time I've been told everything I did, every choice I made, led me to my supposed destiny as Michael's new skin. You think it's great. You think I should consider it an honor. But it meant killing Sam; the one thing -the only person who mattered to me more than my own life! I left Sam. I died and left him vulnerable. You point fingers at him; you and all the other dicks. But hell, he was only following his 'destiny', too." _

The battle momentarily dwindled to a few skirmishes. Dean pushed his addled mind to the surface. Beautiful voices spoke fluent, pure Enochian. He breathed in the sweet scent of angels and the putrid smell of hell. The ground moaned with spilt blood.

Cass... Dean mentally reached for Castiel and sensed the angel hovering above he and Sam, protecting them with his wings, with his heart, with his life.

A horrific explosion shattered St. Louis, Missouri. The Great Arch, a monument of carbon steel and concrete, belched a cloud of darkness. Things crawled out the dark onto the earth; things for which mankind had no name.

Three angels fought the invasion. Three angels who surrendered their grace and freedom to keep the darkness from spreading. Something inside Dean mourned their sacrifice. He did not know how; he just knew.

"_It's that part of me,_ he thought. _Sam is part of one thing and I another and yet... Oh, Sammy, they did this to us, Baby Bro. _

_I get it. All the monsters, all the demons, all the events in our lives were meant to make me reject you, join Mickie... they were going to take you away from me one way or another, Sam."_

Four cities crumbled from the aftershock. St. Louis toppled, leaving eight million people homeless. One thousand, six hundred ninety-two died. The Missouri River choked with bodies and debris. An oil spill burned out of control.

The shockwave rattled the Ohio River Valley. Three fault lines sank into the planet, leaving great crevices in their wake.

The angel and the beast clashed swords. Their blades shattered. The burst of energy disrupted weather patterns. A sonic boom blared half way around the world.

_Dean thought of Michael and his blatant arrogance. Michael considered himself the good guy, the defeater of demons... "gimme a break," Dean moaned. "All your plans have come to nothing-NOTHING! And I got Sammy back. Freakin' bastards! __**I**__ win! Heaven couldn't have me and Hell can't __**ever**__ get Sammy back!"_

Dean's scattered, widespread consciousness slowly regrouped to a single place. Air filled his lungs as though forcing itself into his body. Comfortable, cool night air met his eyes. Stars winked above him. Distant booms, claps and even a roar filtered from far away.

Dean sat up and gave the grounds a cursory glance. He spotted Marco, the Impala and Camila right away. Bobby wasn't readily seen, but that did not mean he wasn't nearby. Light from the northwest caught his attention. A terrible fire flickered at the horizon. Smoke puffed into the atmosphere, pushed away by a sweet southern breeze. Disbelief forced Dean to blink. Did he-yes, there it was again. He spotted fire rain to the earth.

"_Dragons_," came a deep, soothing voice. "The angels lost the battle." quiet feet approached from the right and a figure crouched beside Dean. Again with a second exam, Dean took in the features of an Asian male. Ancient armor coated him head to foot but his face remained visible; a face without an age. When he turned to Dean, Winchester thought he'd fallen into another place for which he had no name.

Dean instinctively reached for his brother.

The Asian remained calm, his voice quiet. "I will not harm you or your brother, _Imadradas_1... or if you prefer, Dean Winchester." a worn smile crossed the stranger's face. "I was asked to bring you here and watch over you until the battle ends."

Dean studied Marco and wondered why Rottie-X didn't alert them. "What battle?" he expected to speak through a dry mouth and a groggy head. But Dean sat next to Sam with a clear, if confused, brain, feeling nothing.

"The one over Atlanta in the horizon. It is sad. A fair city, diminished to ruin."

Dean recalled news about the acid rain. He shook his head. "Uh, I didn't get your name." he tried to read the stranger's expression, but those deep, ancient eyes rested on the battle.

"I am Ao Ji. I have waited centuries for you and your brother. I was preparing to battle alongside you, Dean. That is, you and Michael. Instead, I find myself honored to be here, to meet you... just _you_."

Dean's eyes hardened. Was Castiel the ONLY other person in existence who appreciated Sam? "Aren't you a peach," he growled. "Who are you exactly, anyway?"

Castiel's voice answered that question as the angel appeared beside Sam. "He is Ao Ji, King of the Waters to the North. A friend of mine who's been missing for several thousand years."

Dean answered with his eyes then nodded toward Atlanta. "What's going on over there? Your friend said a battle-"

"Atlanta has fallen, Dean. St. Louis is gone. Green Bay. Austin, Puerto Rico. Reno, Johannesburg, the Catalina Islands. All taken by renegade dragons."

Dean smiled incredulously. "_Renegade dragons?_ What's next, mutant tooth fairies?"

Castiel's demeanor remained unruffled. His eyes blinked from Dean to Ao Ji and back to Winchester. "Dragons were initially created by the archangels as guardians and protectors of places, entities or, as in the case of Ao Ji, certain elements."

Dean's eyes rounded with surprise. He pointed a thumb to the stranger. "You're saying _he's_ a dragon?"

Castiel continued as if Dean said nothing: "Abbadon, a great warrior who fell with Lucifer, stole the grace from millions of dragons and corrupted their souls. We've had to kill them off and condemn them to the Water Gates. We thought the Great Dragons, the kings, were slain... or worse."

Ao Ji drew a deep breath. "Kai Ishako2 set me free when he stole the gate code from the Cage." Dean blinked his confusion and Ao Ji smiled. His deep eyes settled on Sam. "Kai Ishako," he repeated softly, "the Little Brother."

Dean followed Ao Ji's line of sight to his brother. Out the corner of his eye, Marco lifted her head, ears perked. She glanced aroun; edgy. Dean said nothing of her behavior as Marco sat up and surveyed their surroundings. "So, uh, what's the plan from here?"

Castiel produced the medallions from his coat. "We need to find the entrance. Once we find it, Ao Ji can guide us to the gate control. From there, Sam should be able to plug in the codes that close the gates."

"How?"

Castiel pinned Dean with his eyes. "I don't know. Even the archangels did not know how the gates operated."

Dean lined his lips in a knowing smile. "There's just one tiny hitch in your plan, Cass."

"Hitch?"

"Yeah. Sam. How long have we been snoozing?"

Castiel hesitated. "Since yesterday."

"Yeah, that's bad. That's Sammy on twenty-four minus meds." Dean heard Ao Ji asking about Sam's welfare but did not answer. He watched Marco stand straight, all senses alerted, her eyes and nose pointed south. "Uh... how far to the next town, Cass?" Dean tried to see what Marco searched for.

"We just cannot leave, Dean. We must shut down the gates before-"

Dean gazed at the angel over his shoulder. "I get that. But I gotta take care of Sammy or we'll all end up in trouble. He's unpredictable enough when he's _on_ medication. But off it... that's a whole new episode."

They roused Bobby and Camila first. Castiel tried to awaken Sam as Dean whistled for Marco.

"Come on, Marco. Let's go get some grub." she turned, ears perked at him. "Come on, girl." After his experience with hell hounds, Dean never thought he'd like dogs. But he loved Sam's dogs. Marco, especially smart, also caught onto the fact that Sam's name wasn't Mason anymore. She bounded for the car and hopped into the back with Bobby who growled more than she did.

Dean returned to Cass to see what kept Sam. "Hey, Sammy," he said kindly. "We're off to get some breakfast, nab a potty break, maybe find a shower or something." Sam sat up but his expression spoke of distress. Dean glanced at Ao Ji who kept a look out. He turned back to his brother who picked at his hands as though pulling off invisible bugs. _Yeah, Sammy,_ he thought, _I know about the scabs... they're not real, but they're always there, just under the surface._ Dean snapped his fingers. "Oh! Forgot to mention: we're going for _coffee_, Sam."

That did it. Sam did not smile, but he lifted his eyes and wiped his arms and hands as though covered in dirt. Dean held out a hand and Castiel did the same. Sam took both their hands and they helped him up. Dean laid an arm across his brother's shoulders and guided him to the Impala, to the safest place in the world.

Ao Ji turned to Camila and Castiel. "I will take a look around and meet you there at the center." he smiled then disappeared as Dean slipped into the Impala and started the car.

Dean rolled down his window. "I hope we'll find a place that offers pancakes," he said cheerfully. "It's a tourist trap, right, Sammy? It's gotta have the quintessential items." No comment from Sam. Dean stole three glances his way before he plastered a hand across Sam's forehead. Slightly warm.

_Mmrowrorrrrr._ Marco whined and scratched a nervous itch. Bobby moved to pet her (attempt number two) and she lifted a lip at him. Those teeth weren't made of wood. A low grumble of warning vibrated from her.

Dean caught that in the mirror. "Marco, be nice to Uncle Bobby." Her ears perked before she nosed the door. A couple of taps hit the top of the Impala and Dean slowed to a stop. He rolled the window down for Camila. The lady hunter volunteered to walk alongside the Impala as Dean drove to Stone Mountain theme park just half a mile away.

"The center is just ahead. Castiel and I will go in and check out the entrance first."

"I can't wait that long, Camila," Dean replied. "Sam's flushing."

"Oooh." worry creased her brows and Camila reconsidered her strategy. "Alright, let me take Marco and you wait for us at the gate so we can find a restaurant. I-I just don't want to take any chances."

Dean nodded in consent and she rounded the car for Marco. Rottie-X hopped out and sniffed the immediate ground before chasing her stubby backside in two circles.

Dean followed Castiel, Camila and Marco to the tourist center gates. He parked the Impala and turned on Alice In Chains, but kept the volume down. Dean glanced out his rear view mirror, catching Bobby's watchful eye on Sam.

"Dean," Bobby's voice warned with a nod toward the road ahead.

Dean turned as Castiel waved for them to proceed forward. The Impala inched her way through the gates at a cautious speed. Castiel met Dean, creasing his face against the glaring daylight. "Take a left there at the corner. The restaurant is well stocked. I'm going to scout around the grounds just to be sure." he handed Dean the medallions.

Dean passed the heavy metal objects to Sam. "Where's your dragon buddy?"

"He's already there doing something. I didn't ask."

"You'll be back later?"

"I have to, Dean. You're not entirely safe here."

"Okay."

Dean parked in front of a small restaurant resembling a log cabin. Marco jumped and panted, excited to see the rest of her family. Sam sluggishly exited the car and greeted his oversized puppy with less enthusiasm. Bobby opened the door and waited for his younger son while Dean popped the trunk and accumulated personals: Sam's meds, aspirin and a change of clothes.

Sam entered first, surprised to find the place had power. But the lights stayed down save for those at the counter. Camila set plates and coffee cups. She patted the counter top, inviting Sam to sit in front.

"I've got coffee brewing and syrup heating. Did you want cereal?"

Sam took the seat then closed his eyes. He heard her, but found nothing with which to respond. When he lifted his eyes, they gazed at her fully black, written with internal suffering. She offered a smile and squeezed his hands as Dean plopped next to him.

"How's the food 'round here? Hope it's not the usual slop."

"Hunter's special," Camila nearly sang. She didn't need to see to know Dean and Bobby exchanged a look. "Grease, sugar and salt. Complete with demon shish- kabob and a healthy dose of holy water."

Dean kept his poker face on, "Well, let's hope the microwave is in working order. I'm not into window shopping for camp fires. There's no so much as a possessed _grub_. This place gives me the creeps."

Camila smiled, her brown eyes a little frosty. "No nuked food." she picked up a fresh hot decanter and poured all three men a good measure of coffee. Her eyes lit when Sam slumped in relief over the cup of joe. She pushed the cream and sugar in his direction and poured a cup for herself. "I'm going to take a chance and guess you'll want to hide your pretty car someplace while we take care of the gates."

Dean paused before taking another long sip of coffee. "Nah. I thought I'd paste you to the rooftop so you can bark at anyone who so much as looks at the car."

"Wow. You're good. You'd be that willing to leave me outside in the cold and rain, Dean?"

"Sweetheart, we don't know each other that well, so yeah. I would."

The kitchen doors burst open and Ao Ji practically danced in bearing four plates piled with yumminess. "Here we are! Good for everyone! Hope you like!"

Dean raised his brows, dubious. "You can cook?"

"Not that hard. I followed pictures, read recipe."

"You can read English?"

Sam smirked in his coffee and Dean's whole world brightened. He also almost forgot his brother's meds. He set them out and the bottle of aspirin. He took three, handed Sam two then passed the bottle onto Bobby who took a couple and handed them to Camila who took three then handed the bottle back to Dean.

Dean shook his fork at Ao Ji. "Just so you know, I don't normally eat angel food cake. And if there's any 'good-for-you' stuff in here, we're packing."

Sam leaned over. His voice came so quiet that even Camila could not hear him. "Ask him if he used bacon grease."

Dean turned his same dubious expression to his little brother. "You're still eating."

"Just making sure you're covering all the bases."

"Yeah, okay. Sammy wants to know if you've made the um..." Dean looked at his plate, piled with an omelet that looked as though everything was tossed into it. "...if you used bacon."

All four hunters stared at the Dragon King who smiled sheepishly. Sam stared at his plate. Camila and Bobby stared at Dean. He just became the unofficial guinea pig.

Dean and Sam tried their breakfast simultaneously. Surprise blinked their eyes and Dean nodded. He made sure he cleared his mouth before saying anything: "THAT is awesome."

"Ancient Chiang-Min secret." Ao Ji piled a dish for himself and sat next to Camila. "The secret is a perfect mixture of chives, cilantro and mild pepper tossed with lemon. The rest I-what would you say? I _Americanized_ it."

Camila finished a mouthful. "Well, you should open a restaurant for truckers and hunters. That is, if you have other recipes that are equally as good."

Ao Ji nodded, eyes shining. "I had a daughter who did just that-uh, not for truckers. It was a very long time ago."

Sam batted his eyes in disbelief. "You had a daughter?"

"No. I had _several _daughters. All my pride and joy. Well... there was Emuko. She was... difficult."

Dean: "what happened to her?"

"I cut off her head."

Everyone froze.

Ao Ji solemnly nodded. He pushed aside bits of pepper. "You never allow darkness to grow. I waited and hoped and tried for forty years. When she became _guimixinquiao_..."

The room fell silent with sadness. Dean knew nothing of Chinese and apparently neither did Sam. But taking the word into context, Dean assumed Ao Ji meant his daughter was possessed and he could not save her.

Sam shivered next to Dean and frowned at his empty cup of coffee. Dean silently asked Camila and she obligated second rounds for them all.

Ao Ji's eyes roved between Dean and Sam as they ate and drank their coffee. Sam offered some of his breakfast to Marco while Dean drained his coffee. The dragon king read their essence and smiled inwardly. Truly these were the sons of _Erh-Lang_, the spirit chaser. Ji could not be more honored than this moment. In the End Time, at the Great Tribunal, he would speak on their behalf. "There is an ancient tale," Ao Ji said as he nibbled another bite, "older, even, than Castiel. It is said that at the beginning, God created the stars and gave each of them names. Then upon the world, He spread the sands of the seas so that the number of sands equaled the number of stars across the great universe. But He found one grain of sand fewer than the stars.'

'Now, God certainly could have made that extra grain of sand to equal the number of stars. But instead, He split one grain of sand into two. And for all eternity, the two grains of sand would be of the same one, no matter how separated they may be, they would always be part of a whole. When God created the Angels, they filled all the heavens with light and beauty. Their spirits, as intense as the light of the sun.'

'But none of them had a soul. So God created Humans and planned their numbers. But He chose to leave one number fewer so that just as the grain of sand split in two, so one soul was split in two. For all souls are unique. But only this one mirrored the truth of creation." Ao Ji looked up with a grin. "Ah, Castiel! I was telling them the story that is older than you."

Castiel held the dragon king with reflective blue eyes. "After several million years, I'd hope you'd find new material, Ao Ji."

Camila and Bobby took watch outside while the brothers, Ao Ji and Castiel poured over papers, notes and maps.

Sam watched Ao Ji sift through ancient property titles and descriptions. Dean scrutinized two of the three medallions over and over. Silence strangled the air. Castiel tried to ignore the building's odd noises as the walls expanded or contracted from temperature changes. He corrected a few mistranslations. His eyes lifted to Marco as she stretched, yawned and resettled. Castiel laid his eyes on Sam who stared at him, considering.

"Am I distracting you, Sam?" the angel asked quietly.

Sam blinked from a daydream. "No. I was trying to remember something you said. Something about hiding things and places during times of war. I don't ...I can't wrap my head around it. Does that mean that the gates are buried, or is it that they've been dimensionally shifted?" They all shot their eyes at him. Sam lined his lips and turned the gate coordinates toward them. "Look, all these places already exist as something else. I don't think we're looking for a gate so much as we're looking for an alternate place. Like a-a ley line nexus. So... how is it that angels don't know where it is?"

Castiel frowned. "Because the angels in charge of the gate system switched sides eons ago."

Sam nodded and retrieved the coordinates map and compared it to the tourist map of Stone Mountain. From the large envelope, he produced the cloth with the holographic projected letters and one of the medallions. Sam held it to the restaurant's poor lighting and frowned. "You're right, Dean. These are keys." he paused. "Where's the third one?"

Dean winced. "I dunno. Still in the car, maybe? I'm sure it's sitting on the seat. I'll go get it." Dean hesitated when his brother's face turned blank.

Sam lowered the medallion as his eyes panned to Marco. She stared intensely out the restaurant windows and barked. His heartbeat drummed. The world slowed; time and reality fell to shadow.

"_I'm your real family...they were just foster care..."_

Dean pulled Sam down. The windows shattered inward, raining the restaurant in a storm of glass. Castiel took the brunt of the first attack. A fiery sphere of energy slammed into his chest with a _WHAMP _and the angel's body smashed into the kitchen and through the wall to the outside.

Marco scampered for the near-invisible figure aiming for Ao Ji. The roar issuing from Marco's target vibrated the walls and floor. Marco yanked her 'new toy' to the floor and the two rolled, kicking tables and chairs off the floor. They whacked one wall. All paintings slipped and clattered to the floor. Marco growled, clawed and masticated her target. Blood painted the floor and the closest wall.

Ao Ji gripped Dean's shoulders. "Go! Go with Castiel! Be safe! Go!"

Dean picked his brother up. He grabbed the two medallions, his handgun, lighter and Sam's wrist. Sam swept up a map and the 3-D cloth as Dean half dragged him to the kitchen.

"I can't leave Marco!" Sam objected.

Dean refused to let Sam squirm out of his grip. They crashed out the back door and down the shadowed ally. The glassy clink of metal hitting asphalt charged toward them by the swift clippity-clop of a horse's pattern. Dean took one glance back and realized they'd have to find some place more secure than a mere building. _Centaurs_, as he recalled, were immune to the usual list of 'spookbane'.

The Centaur clopped after them, pausing just long enough to nock an arrow and aim. Dean held his breath; turned a corner. It was always worse when the beast or monster in question suddenly fell quiet. Winchester slammed his back against a store front and glanced at his brother when Sam did the same. Dean checked his gun for ammo, ready to make a stand.

The Centaur smacked the ground, searching this way, that, snorting with dissatisfaction. Sam listened and thought of the Centaur he hunted on Washington Island. Sam doubted the so-called informant was an informant at all. At one time monsters and mythical beasts were a rarity; something people used to spread freaky tales to their children. He turned cold realizing the world was now irreversibly changed. Now... now that the world knew, safety was a thing of the past.

A bitter, deep red sunset crossed the landscape and bathed Stone Mountain in orange and red hues. Sam's mind worked in reverse, remembering the map coordinates. The two states that made the gate triangulation initiated from areas of desert, rich with iron ore.

"Dean, I know where we have to go."

_KUR-SHTOMP!I Whack-crack-whack!_ From the rooftop the Centaur leapt over their heads and slammed into the street before them. Metal-clad hoofs sparked the gravel. Dean and Sam dodged and dropped to either side as the beast shot an arrow in their direction. The arrow smashed through the wall, cracking brick and mortar. The monstrous figure paused to nock another arrow. Its large eyes roved between the brothers, choosing which to charge after. It settled on Dean and sprang after him.

Sam returned to the corner, hoping to find his brother. He swore profusely as the beast raced after Dean. _Do something_, he told himself.

_..."Sam..."_

A spear of agony needled his head and Sam bowed over, dropped to his knees. A face blipped in and out. A warm but weary smile. A trimmed beard framed the jawline. Black truck, leather jacket. Tired eyes that had seen many, many unspeakable things.

"_Sammy..."_

Somewhere deep inside, Sam thought no one other than Dean had the right to call him that. The face blinked through again, surfacing from memories buried so long ago it should not exist. He squeezed his eyes so tightly, tears seeped through his lashes. Sam gasped for air. His brain fried and transmitted pain through his limbs. In a blinding flash, the pain lifted and Sam rolled onto his back, gasping for air. He stared at the clouding sky. The trioxalate, one of his medications, backfired again.

Sam cursed his condition and himself. "Get up," he ordered himself. "Get up, you _worthless_ thing!" he covered his eyes. Images of Dean's death assembled themselves like a slide show. He couldn't lose Dean, he _couldn't_.

Sam rolled face down, unable to pull himself together. "God, help me!" he wept.

Soft heavy feet padded to his side and Marco's kind, attentive whine answered Sam's plea. She nudged his arm and he latched on, found her head boxed on either side with ram's horns. Marco was in her invisible form.

Sam wrapped his arms around her head and the hell hound tugged him to his feet. Sam regained his balance just as another set of metal hooves came into his sight. The Centaur, one of white end-half and long white hair at the head, targeted Sam with its own bow.

The beast did not see Marco until it was far too late. Marco attacked, tooth, claw and brute strength. She tore the thing to pieces. Unable to watch, Sam staggered back to the restaurant, back toward the Impala. He planted his hands on the black roof for support. Honestly, he needed rest. He needed at least twenty-four hours to stabilize the drugs in his system. But it was not possible. He closed his eyes a moment and drew reserves from deep down. What he needed to do was going to cost him dearly later on. But Sam decided nothing mattered except Dean.

He shuddered and allowed the hunter inside to take over. A raw, feral awareness of self slowly took over. His senses unfurled and picked up scents and sounds. The psychic part of him kicked in and mapped out the center's streets and layouts. Before he went after the beast hunting down his brother, Sam needed a few things. He prayed Dean could hold out just long enough.

One obstacle stood between Sam and what he needed: all the materials lay in the trunk. And he had no keys.

"Sam!" Camila raced for him. "Sam, Dean's-" she swallowed air when she watched Dean's brother take a step back from the Impala's trunk, point a finger at the car and the trunk unlocked on its own. The huntress cleared her head. "Sam, you can't do this. You've been without medication, you're under tremendous stress. Let me go instead. I can do this."

"No." Sam frisked the trunk and found special herbs, a crossbow, silver-tipped arrows, pure beeswax and ground redwood ash bark. He swiftly and methodically prepared for the hunt.

"You could end up in the hospital with a seizure! Let me find Dean-"

"No." Sam's flat tone chilled her. "I can't explain it. I don't want to talk about it." he mixed herbs and set them aside, then mixed poisons and set them elsewhere. "I owe him, Camila. I don't know how I know, I don't think I want to know. I just know that I owe him everything. I don't care what that costs. I know that I've done something unspeakably horrible and that

my only hope, my only means of salvation-"

Camila landed a hand on his. Sam turned and faced her with tears on his cheeks and deadness in his eyes. "-is Dean. All I can do is pray everyday that he forgives me enough... I should have died. Or stayed that way."

Camila's expression softened but she kept pity out of her eyes. "From what I can tell, it's not what he wanted. It's not what he wants now."

"Yeah, well, we don't always get what we want. I've made his life miserable, Camila. He's lost his parents, his childhood, his innocence, his faith, his future and his life. I just wish I understood how one man, who's lost everything-_everything_ could still value the one thing that destroyed it all."

"It's not your fault-"

"_Yes, Camila_," Sam insisted. "I _am_ the curse." with that said, Sam handed her several crossbow bolts. "I need your blood, Camila."

His eyes, dark as obsidian flashed deep copper. She knew better than to reason or argue with the man when his frame of mind shifted into hunting mode. Camila produced a small knife and slit her hand. She painted six arrows with her blood while Sam mixed herbs, beeswax, holy water and the ground bark.

Camila handed Sam the bloodied arrows. "There's something here other than the Centaur, Sam. It dragged Castiel underground." Camila handed him the arrows one by one. "Please, at least take Marco."

Sam set the arrows in a case and loaded the crossbow with the first two. He took up a bottle of water and stuffed a small first aid kit into his pocket. Closing the trunk, his eyes settled on her again, took a deep breath. "I'm going to pay for this, I know. But my _brother_ is all that matters."

Dean was glad the freak chose him rather than Sam. Little Brother was a great runner at one point, but bets were off now days. Dean dashed down the street, passing the Summit Skyride. He took a left toward the Laser show Concessions and found a miracle; three quad bikes meant for ground security sitting pretty.

What about keys? Dean hurriedly scanned for possibilities anywhere-anywhere at all. He spotted a set of keys sitting in the green quad's tailpipe. Dean heard the Centaur and took off just as the beast's next arrow smashed into a nearby tree, missing Dean's head by a few inches.

Dean pushed the little bike to maximum speed; not faster than a hunting Centaur, but faster than if he tried to run.

The beast galloped after. It sidelined fences, leapt over trash cans and smashed a picnic table.

Dean jammed down the road and crossed a set of railroad tracks. From there a meadow yawned open. Green grass welcomed visitors for midday picnics and the laser light show. Three football fields long ended with a pond and beyond that, a thicket of trees bordered the mountain of stone. He aimed for the forest hemmed to the left. The little puttputt mobile did not have all the gas in the world to avoid a rampaging Centaur-especially one that thumped the ground with metal hooves. Dean scanned as many trees before him as he could in one glance or two.

What he planned was bad. Really bad; like _run-into-a-burning-building_ bad. He fish-tailed around this tree, then that, making sure his trail made it difficult for the Centaur to follow too quickly.

There! A little slope, a short clearing before another tree loomed and stretched toward Heaven. Dean gunned the quad and conquered the slope.

The Centaur galloped in succession then slid in its tracks, trying to brake as the quad crested back over the slope, minus a driver. It slammed into the beast. Half-horse and putt mobile collided and tumbled down the slope, stirring dust, crunching twigs and smashed against the nearest tree. The mad beast screamed in a fit and kicked at the bike.

Dean headed for the mountain. Since people climbed up and down Stone mountain, most likely there'd be tourist traps everywhere, bathroom facilities, maybe even a burger stand where he could either find or make a weapon. The Centaur's screaming fit echoed from three directions and Dean froze, held his breath and listened for thumping hoofs.

"Come on, come on," he whispered. "Sammy-fishing is out of season." Dean quelled his heavy breathing. Not to hide from the beast, but to triangulate its current location. This was hunting in the worst way; Dean knew nothing about Centaurs. He leaned against one tree, waited, stepped to another, leaned against it and waited. He repeated the process another one hundred feet. The ground dropped to a twenty-foot ravine and into a canal.

Where should he go now? Dean scanned the solid rock several yards before him. The path on his left mirrored the path on his right; trees on one side, the ravine and canal on the other. Left, maybe? Yeah.

Dean turned left from his tree and came flat-faced with the Centaur's ugly visage. _**GRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!**_

The moment might have been comical, were it not so startling. Dean fell backward and scrambled like a crab as the beast took one step forward. Its nostrils flared, tail snapped, arrow in the ready. It aimed and Dean rolled left as the weapon sunk into the ground.

Winchester bolted, heading right rather than left. The monster charged, crunching undergrowth, thumping the ground as though it weighed ten tons.

"Dean! Drop!"

He did not need a second warning. Dean dropped, but his momentum forced him to roll several feet. The Centaur screamed. Its hoofs pounded the ground and came painfully close to stepping on him. He rolled in a direction he thought was away from the monster. Sam cried out. Marco's bark disoriented Dean. A shaft of acidic ice pierced him just below the left collar bone.

Dean screamed, joined by the Centaur's high-pitched victory caw. The monster danced around Dean and he rolled face-down, instinctively protecting his head. Hooves stomped everywhere until one hoof contacted the back of Dean's upper right arm, slicing skin and bruising the rest. The beast bounded away, chased off by the threat of death.

Dean rolled left. Pain drilled into his chest and plastered agony through his veins. He clenched his teeth and forced his weight to the right. _Up! Get up! _Dean moaned, losing air as Sam sunk behind him and supported his weight. One gentle hand spread across his solid chest, chin on his shoulder, Sam poised his left hand over the arrow.

"I got you," he said softly. "I got you. Shh, shh. Steady. Hold your breath, Dean,"

The arrow came out with as much agony as when it shot him. Dean screamed and gripped Sam's arm. Little Brother held him tighter while Dean stomped the ground with his heels. His eyes squeezed tight; tears soaked his face. He could not breath, could not move. Dean arched his back, willing air into his lungs. He finally managed half a breath.

"GODDAMN!" Dean declared and squirmed. "GET THE FUCKING DRILL OUT OF MY SHOULDER!" Sam swiftly removed his brother's jacket and shirts and laid him on the ground. Dean writhed, swearing and sweating as pain ripped through muscle and rammed against his shoulder blade. He arched his back until Sam covered the wound with the flat of his palm. A wet, fuzzy substance gushed between his wound and Sam's hand.

"Hang in there, Dean. I know it hurts like shit."

Another half a breath."Been-nnnngggghh! Shot by one... have you?"

"Yes. In the leg. Breathe, Dean. Hang in there! Let it soak in. It's alright. I got you. I got you."

Whatever remedy Sam used milked into the wound. The pain subsided and Dean flopped like a wet cloth, completely exhausted.

Sam settled under his brother as Dean heaved for air. Sam held him close and tugged at Dean's jacket, warmly covered him as Camila caught up.

"Where did it go, Sam?" she nodded when he indicated south and took off again.

Marco, who took up guard duty, half crawled toward the brothers. She whimpered sympathetically and nudged Dean's right hand.

Sam scanned his brother's right arm and spotted the swelling injury. His voice came flat and quiet. "I can't take you anywhere, Dean." Sam did not expect an answer. Dean trembled enough to tell him shock settled in. All they could do was wait it out. "Marco," Sam whispered, "recon."

Sam could not tell how long he sat there holding his brother. The day ebbed toward sunset. The quiet lured him to dozing several times. He heard Marco come and leave as she made security rounds. At one point, Sam wondered where every one else had gone. No Castiel, Camila or Bobby. His eyes climbed out the thicket of trees and searched the sky.

A mix of docile tones colored the early autumn sky. Soft blushing pink mingled with creamy pale orange. A tang of blue-green hemmed a brood of puffy clouds. For the fraction of a second, Sam thought he saw the sky waver like the northern lights.

Maybe he was tired.

And he was so tired that he saw the sky waver again. A strip of lightning zipped across his view. Sam waited several beats, counting the miles for-but never heard-the thunder.

No thunder. Must be heat lighting.

Marco returned and sat beside Dean. She tilted her head at Sam and her eyes flickered glowing red. The rottie yawned, flopped to one side and rolled on her back, all four legs hung up.

No birds. In the number of minutes-turned-hours Sam sat with his brother, not once did he hear or see a bird.

"Marco," Sam softly called. "Marco, protect."

"Mrrrrph." she rolled back to her feet and shook herself. Before Sam's eyes, she shifted. Not to the invisible hell hound, but to the creature he should not be able to see; a six-foot six, toe-to-shoulder beast with curled ram's horns, long scary fangs, glowing eyes and claws mean enough to take out a person's face in one strike. Puppy she was not.

"Crap," Sam checked his brother for fever. Dean was a little warm, but not hot. "Dean," he said softly. "Dean, wake up. I think we're in trouble."

"Mmm. Five more minutes, S'my."

"I would except that you have another cut I need to look at and we have to find the Impala."

Dean pushed his eyes open, his face scrunched with confusion. "What? What about the Impala?"

"I don't think we are where we're supposed to be."

Dean moaned. "Oh no, don't say things like that, Sam. You know that gives me headaches." Dean shuddered with effort. He'd been so comfortable and slept... now he really was awake. He slept better than he had in years. Sam helped him to sit up and he shivered a little. "How long was I out, Sammy?"

"_We_ were out for hours, I think." Sam's eyes fell with guilt. "I don't know why I fell asleep. I wasn't even tired." he picked up his brother's shirts. "Let me look at your bruise there."

Dean tried to keep the wince off his face but his cheeks still tightened with discomfort. Judging by Sam's expression, the owie was pretty bad. "Is it bleeding?"

"A little."

Dean examined the stab wound on his chest and found it already scabbed over. He tugged on the shirts but just draped the coat over his shoulders. "What did you use on this, Sam?"

"An ancient treatment I discovered some time ago. I used it on myself the first time I encountered-"

"Wait a minute," Dean crossed eyes with his brother, "how many times have you hunted Centaurs... holy crap!" Sam traced Dean's line of sight and smiled slightly. Marco pranced toward them, long tongue hanging over four-inch teeth. Dean recognized the rottweiler part of the beast but the rest, he wasn't so certain. "Marco?" he squeaked.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "We shouldn't be able to see her. She's not visible on our plane. Just can't be."

Dean pushed himself to his feet, eyes hard and certain. "She might be in an altered dimension." he searched the sky. In ten minutes nothing changed; not the clouds or the lighting. "Okay. Let's go see if anybody else is here." he pointed to Marco. "She won't um... even like this, she won't..."

Sam smiled and gently squeezed his brother's shoulder. "No. She won't bite. Marco likes you, Dean. So do I." he started back toward the tourist center.

They returned to the area and found trees, grass...trees...the Impala...grass. Blatant bewilderment masked their faces. Marco pranced around them, panting in ignorance of their situation.

"What the hell!" Dean stomped to his baby, spun around, arms held out. "What the hell, Sam? _Why is the Impala still here!_"

Sam shook his head with just a confused expression as his brother. "Umm..."

"No Bobby, no Camila, no sidekick angel..." Dean produced his keys and dropped them. "_Sonofabitch!_ Where the hell are we?"

All Sam had to offer was an outside-the-box thought. But the idea did not sit well with his rational side.

"Sam?" Dean called, losing patience.

"I don't have anything to offer you Dean except a guess."

"I'll take it. Where do you suppose we are?"

"Parallel to where we were."

"In another dimension?"

"Sort of. More like... inside the line between our home world and the ley line. I think Stone Mountain is a nexus and it's connected to uhhh..." he turned away, scratched his forehead then turned back and found Dean next to him, expecting answers.

"So what you're saying is that we're _inside_ the gate system."

Sam blinked, his mind a blank. "Yeah."

Dean nodded. "Okay. So we got here how? And how come the Impala came with us?"

A sizzle of lightning flickered overhead and Sam winced; the flash of a deadly blade poised to strike shot through his head. He blinked back the vision and the bloody smile behind it. _Stay in the moment,_ he told himself. "Uh..." Sam searched his pockets for the papers he grabbed when they bolted to safety. Then the answer: "Waitaminute," he searched his brother's eyes, "The medallions."

"What of them?" Dean fished for his keys and unlocked the trunk.

"You had two of them and left the third-"

"-in the car." Dean shook his head. "Why should-oh!"

"Gate keys," the two said in unison.

Dean thunked his head against the trunk top. "That means we're cut off from everyone else. Lucky us."

"Maybe from Bobby and Camila, but not Castiel." Sam hauled out his duffle from the trunk and carefully set it on the hood. He systematically double checked his supplies before preparing to treat his brother's arm.

"I don't think Castiel knows we're here, Sam."

"Well, just call him. If Marco can exist here-"

"Oooh, right. Uh, I just hope Cass won't be coming to us undressed, if you know what I mean."

Sam grimaced at the idea of his eyes burning out. A light wave of dizziness assailed him and he stayed very still. Not a good sign. The medications he took weren't perfect, but they were a hell of a lot better than being without them.

He undid the sealed herbal concoction, picked out a gauze wrap and tape and glanced at Marco. "Let me take care of your arm, Dean."

"My owie is fine, Sam."

Sam lined his lips. "Please, just let me wrap it. You were hit with a Centaur, Dean. I just want to be sure, that's all."

Dean smirked. "What. You think I'm gonna mutate or something?" he read the steadfast, pleading look in Sam's eyes and shrugged his jacket off. "Fine." while Sam smeared on treatment and wrapped the bruised and swollen cut, Dean used the medallions to reset frequencies on his EMF meter. "Okay. So where do we go from here, Sammy?"

"The mountain, I suppose." Sam patted his brother's shoulder. He returned the left over gauze to its box and put it in the car.

Sam sounded tired but Dean said nothing. He reorganized his duffle, added drinking and holy water, a few munchies, extra weapons, salt, a washcloth, light blanket and extra matches. He tossed in a few other odds and ends, closed the trunk and grinned at his brother. Sam responded with a lighter smile. No expectations, no suspicions.

"Alright, Little Bro," Dean pocketed his keys. "A-hiking we will go!"

Sam caught up with a final glance at the Impala. Marco bounded after them. She paused to sniff at a tree, caught up and paused again to pee. Sam let Dean lead while he studied the map and the notes scrawled in his, Bobby's and Castiel's handwriting. He folded the papers, choosing not to deal with the puzzle until they arrived. "Dean?"

"Yeah."

"How old is the car?"

Dean almost stopped in his tracks like a needle across an old record. He reminded himself not to jump to any conclusions. "Uh... it was Dad's."

"Wow. You do a great job keeping it up."

Dean allowed himself another grin. "Gotta take care of your ladies, Sammy." Dean stopped dead a moment and held a hand out to shush his brother. "Do you hear that?"

"Um. No."

Dean dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced a medallion. It faintly buzzed in his palm and when he showed it to Sam, the medallion glinted and a pointer swung from Dean's right to left toward the mountain. "It's a friggin' compass," Dean palmed it out and the indicator sparkled across the metal. "Cool."

Sam dug out the car's medallion from his own pocket. But nothing came to life. He shrugged. "Okay, I guess we follow the magical compass."

Dean made the path. His boots swished through the trimmed grass. The trees hovered above, still as paintings. The sky flickered and rolled with strange activity. No sunlight; just a world frozen on the cusp of sunset. Dean felt comfortable here, no matter his misgivings about where he and Sam should be. This gateway existed between two dimensions, two realities. It was a completely neutral area. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Didn't you say there were things guarding the water gates?"

"I think so."

"So... I guess that means that me, you and Doggie Named Blue aren't alone here." Dean turned and met his brother's gaze. "There could be other things lurking around."

An inkling of cold uneasiness eked into Sam's chest. "...yeah." at a loss for words, he simply stared a moment and tried to pinpoint what he felt at the moment. He swallowed hard, mentally pushing down memories of screams unuttered by Human vocal chords. "Well... Marco and I-I'm sure Castiel..." Sam lost track of what he was going to say. He shook his head as his mind clouded with confusion.

Dean down-turned his lower lip and nodded. He knew what Sam meant; that creatures or things other than Humans had the ability to pass and exist on such alternate planes. "Yeah." he pressed forward, sensing their time faded fast.

Sam's chest clenched with phantom pain and he trembled. He tried to shrug it off; just keep moving. Maybe it'll fade. But when Marco hopped up and nudged the side of her bony head against him, Sam realized he wasn't imagining. He slowly spiraled into an anxiety attack. With an arm slung over the supportive hell hound, he staggered along. Darkness gathered around him, unseen, but just as real. Sam fought to keep his head clear.

"_When I get older... losing my hair many years from now..."_ Sam tried to concentrate on the lyrics and Dean's pace in front. "..._will you still be sending me a valentine birthday greeting... bottle of wine... will you still need me... will you still feed me. When I'm sixty-four."_

Beatles? Dean lined his face with disbelief until he noticed his little brother stagger a time or two. "Sammy, you need to tell me when you're out of sorts." He dropped his bag and caught Sam as his brother sank to his knees.

Sam clenched his teeth. His muscles tightened as he struggled to push down the emotional distress threatening to smother him in guilt and anguish. Adrenaline strangled his rationality. He wanted to claw at the grass, dig his nails into the dirt and rip the land apart. But it was Dean's arms that received the treatment. Sam bowed over as memories of screams surfaced. They came from every direction and varied from horrified to hopeless. Unimaginable pain railed through the sound. Men. Women. Demons. Things for which there was no Human reference; they all screamed with brutal intensity.

Above it all came one voice; clear, calm, acidic with deep-seeded arrogance and hatred. _"You know that you belong here. You've known all along. You belong down here with me. Stop fighting it."_

"I had to die," Sam whispered. "I had to die. Why didn't I stay? Why, why, why?" he bowed completely over, face against his knees, forehead against Dean's knees. Sam slowly rocked, repeating his penance. His mind reeled, recalling things he told Dean and much more that he could not. His mind raced back, back to a day he could not account for; a day in a cemetery. A hole in the ground. A black car nearby. "_Save me from the dark._"

Dean's heart broke and he bowed over, resting his cheek on his brother's back. "You were brought back to me, Sammy," sorrow tightened his voice. "You were brought back for me, Little Bro. I'm so sorry, Sam. I wanted you back with me. I'm so sorry for being so selfish." Sam moved and Dean sat up. Sammy's tear-reddened face reflected his own. Dean wiped Sam's cheek and cupped his chin.

Little Brother's voice struggled for strength. "Sometimes I can't keep the dark and the fire away. And sometimes I still hear _him_; I can't shut _him_ out. He tells me that I've am evil and I need to... and I've never told Abby. Never. I think she knows. She's seen the ropes, the blades, blood in the bathroom. And she always begged me to wait another couple of days and see if it gets any better." Sam's lungs tightened. He sent his gaze aside, half expecting Dean to tongue lash him for being so stupid and self-centered.

Dean squeezed his brother's shoulders. He did not want to think of his Sam attempting suicide. No. No. He and his brother were going to get through this. They survived a war between heaven and hell. They were going to get through this. "Sammy, even if we hadn't been late giving you your meds, chances are, this still would have happened. You know that, right? I know where you've been, Little Bro and never, _never_ will I yell at you about it. But I want you to promise me-" Dean gently turned Sam head and searched his solid dark eyes; so dark and so sad. "I want you to promise that when something like this happens, you'll come to me. I don't care what time of day it is or what I'm doing."

Sam slowly blinked. "There may come a time when you can't stop me, Dean."

Winchester nodded. It was not concession, not permission for Sam to end his life, however. "Then I'll join you."

Sam's heart melted with shock and sorrow. He smiled through the emotional anguish and tears on his face. "You are a profound individual, Dean Winchester," he whispered. "And I wish to God I could be the brother that you rightfully deserve-" he choked and tried again, "I'm so sorry I can't be the Sam you knew."

Dean bridled his emotions and gripped Sam's head so they touched foreheads. "Sam?" he said quietly. "I want you to listen to me very carefully." he paused. "Are you listening to me, Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam swallowed hard.

"I don't give a fucking flying rat's ass about the old Sam. I have you here, now. I have _you_ and that's all I give a damn about. It's all that matters. Period. _Period_. Got me?"

"Yeah."

"Know what else?"

"Huh?"

"I am starving to death. I'm thinking Marco burgers with Arby sauce and fries."

Sam dropped his jaw, mortified. He sat up. "You are such a jerk!"

Dean's eyes about fell out. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me," Sam blinked his eyes. "My sweet innocent helpless puppy lies at your mercy and all you can think about are your innards!"

Dean nodded, his face blank with the thought of a challenge. "You called me a jerk."

"I can call you a lot _worse_ if you harass and upset my dog!"

"Yeah, but _jerk?_ Sam?"

Sam leered. "Pinhead."

"Alright, _bitch_ lay it on me!"

"Only a neophyte would ask that, you Chuck Norris Wannabe."

"So I hang around you, _hoping_ for verbal abuse and enough emo moments to last me six _lives_-it makes you a Barbie Doll reject, Sam."

"When Barney Fife was looking to be reincarnated, he knew he'd find a home with you!"

Dean lost what he was going to say and tried not to laugh but _Barney Fife_ got him in the proverbial gonads. He cracked. Bubbles of laughter came to the surface and he could not suppress them.

Dean's laughter became Sam's.

Dean took in a deep, fresh breath. "Beatles," he declared, "What's up with the Beatle's song, Sam?"

Sam blushed, "Camila taught me... one night. It was a really bad night and I couldn't... it was before Abby and Mike brought Roxi home."

Dean stood and helped his brother up. "Dude, you need something stronger than Beatles."

1Pronounced Ee-mah-tra-das

2Pronounced Ky-ee-shah-koe


	14. Phasing Out

**A/N** Hugs to you guys who have been so patient with me! I keep meaning to end the story but um, Dean, Sam and Castiel keep getting into trouble! I apologize in advance for jumping around in this chapter. I promise it won't be quite so rough a ride next time.

I do not know Latin, so I will have to ask you to pretend the characters do, okay? Um, oh, yeah, there's a lot of demons using four-letter words. No one explained to them that four-letter words were sorta taboo in civilized conversation. And you'll find they speak a 'hell language'.

Phasing Out

Camila stalked the deserted tourist center like a panther. Other than their little group, not one Human soul breathed along the streets or in the shops. The huntress passed fancy boutiques, cheap restaurants and gaming booths. She wanted to stay and listen in as the brothers, Castiel and his friend worked on finding passage to the Water Gates. But she understood the need for a look-out; Marco can't cover everything.

Her cell buzzed and she brought it to her ear.

"Seen anything?" Bobby's grizzled voice grated her ear. Camila winced. Most male hunters turned hard and cynical as they got older. Not that lady hunters were exactly Mrs. Santa Claus if they lived past fifty themselves. Straight talk and lack of social skills certainly were par for the course. Camila wondered if she herself would survive to that age where she too turned grizzled, cynical and mirthless.

"Nope," she answered quietly. "But um, I don't think we're entirely alone."

"No shit."

She did not dignify that with an answer. Bobby Singer was not in her usual circle of contacts, though Camila knew his name. Bobby was about as blunt as they came. Her partner Alex, often colored her life with his paranoia, pushy agenda and accurate instincts. He'd probably end up just like Bobby; knowledgeable, handy, crude and blunt.

Snapping her cell phone shut, the lady approached a U-shaped print in the alleyway between a candy shop and a book store. A second print followed not far behind.

The Centaurs she encountered always functioned as loners; seldom had there been more than one beast in a multi-mile area. But most rules die by the wayside standing this close to a ley line.

Camila scrunched down. She considered it possible the Centaurs were possessed. Her senses picked up a presence. Two. She hit Bobby's number again. He accepted her call, but said nothing.

"Bobby, I found prints this way." she waited for a reply or a grunt. "Bobby?"

An explosion two blocks down startled her and Camila rammed her back against the candy shop, breath held, gun at the ready. A gust of warm air pushed ashes and debris along the street and silence followed. Camila waited another three moments and silently made her way back to the restaurant.

Broken front windows welcomed her to a wreck. A hole rammed through the kitchen. Tables and chairs lay like kindling. No sign of Marco. Ao Ji was nowhere to be seen. Castiel had disappeared. Sam's laptop lay on the floor, dead.

She fought the urge to call out. Camila crept low and kept her eyes open for any movement. Harsh light and deep shadows distorted her vision. She passed through the cluttered kitchen, stepped outside and spotted a large, fresh burn mark in the ground. It smoldered and smelt of fresh snow and sulfur. Camila searched three-sixty of her position, hoping for a sign of the angel, the brothers or Ao Ji. All she found, however, came by means of a cloud several miles in the sky. Two indiscernible objects flew at each other. Their battle sparked fire and lightning.

The heartbeat pattern of heavy hoofs aimed for her from the west. Camila's eyes widened as a Centaur came straight at her. She drew one knife and waited just the right moment. She threw but the beast ducked and took a hard left turn. She gave chase until the Centaur leapt onto a delivery truck and from there, to the rooftop of the building behind it. The damn thing leapt from one building to another then dropped down the other side. Camila could not follow and had to keep running until she found a break between the shops.

She emerged from the breeze way in time to see Dean racing from his potential killer. She produced a second knife but by the time she aimed, both Dean and his attacker were far out of range. With a curse on her lips, Camila searched up and down the street for Sam.

Bobby woke groggy and crankier than usual. The throbbing ache in his side, his wrists and jaw reported he was not in hangover mode. Garbled voices hissed and snapped in a language the well-experienced hunter never heard before. He squinted blurry, dry eyes and wiggled his jaw left to right to check for bone damage. His mouth bled, but not from broken teeth. Split cheeks inside and out, a sliced bottom lip and scruffed chin indicated he'd been beaten before and after he lost consciousness.

A grating, cracking voice called attention to him and some oversized brute of an ape with a set of deep black eyes squatted before him.

"Take a photograph or make a painting so you'll always remember what I look like," Bobby snarled. Sam's eyes were creepy enough, but they really weren't menacing and dead like the demon's in front of him.

"He's not Winchester," the brute announced.

Bobby snarled with disgust, "Of _course_ I'm not a Winchester, you brainless shithead."

"Seabus, I smell girl on him. They got a girl with them."

"Antion! The ANGEL!"

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah, the angel's with 'em. He reeks of it. Hey, Ugly, where's that winged _slauk_ that hangs with you?"

Bobby intensified his disgust. "I don't know! Do I look like Heaven's customer service agent to you?" Laughter followed his retort and the freak raised its hand to give him a solid punch. But the demon behind him held his fist back.

"Not now, Antion. He knows what we want. That means the winger is here. Let's mount up and fly out. Them boys have a head start on us."

Antion stood and spun on his heels with a snort. "Wasting time again, Seabus! I say we take him with us and use him for the next communique-or at least let us have some man flesh before we return."

Seabus gripped Antion's collar and yanked him nose-to-nose. He hesitated, reveling in his underling's fear. "No," he answered calmly. "Any bloodshed at this point will call another winger to our attention and I don't want any attention."

"Then freakin' call Raucous! He'll do it!"

Bobby winced when Seabus shouted, the tone reverberated with sounds he'd never heard before. "GET THE DAMN DOGS! PUT **HIM** AT THE ROADSIDE! DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD OR I'LL SEND YOU BACK FROM WHERE I SCRAPED YOU OFF! GET THE DAMN DOGS! WE'RE GOING FOR THE GIRL!"

The last thing Bobby remembered was lying on the side of the road. A highway patrol officer checked him for vitals and called in for emergency services.

Camila's first instinct was to tag Sam at a distance. Sam raced to save his brother and vehemently insisted she stayed. Sam was not safe to be around in a hunt; Camila had the scar to prove it. But Big Brother wouldn't appreciate her leaving Sam by himself.

The huntress attempted Bobby's number several more times before scouting the grounds. _Normally_ people didn't just disappear. She started from Point Zero; the Impala, and canvassed the tourist trap, scanning shop to booth, bar to bathroom.

Half way down one street, Camila found more hoof prints, fresh and accompanied by two long dark horse hairs. She held still, listening hard. The one _clomp_ was all she needed. The lady hunter slipped into a nearby ally and waited for the next sound. She hoped that in her search for Bobby, she had not made the mistake of making herself a target.

On second thought, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. All she needed were an ounce of wit, four ounces of courage and several pounds of muscle. She peered cautiously round the corner of a small shop constructed like an 1800's building with old wood panels and boxed windows. Frivolous touristy stuff. The world surrendered to the dim light of early evening. Without anyone backing her up, Camila knew her biggest mistake was hunting alone.

"Come on, come on," she whispered. The breeze picked up and she caught the whiff of dust, of sour, dirty skin and horse hair. Sam gave her two arrows to work with. Not that she needed them; she still had one of her special knives; gifts forged and blessed by a priest in Canada.

She almost didn't see it. The bolt whistled past her forehead and into the building wall behind her; sunk clear to the fletchings. Camila flinched and managed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

The perpetrator emerged from hiding and galloped hard as it reloaded the crossbow and aimed for her. Camila's lips went cold. Her heart throbbed until she held her breath, watching the beast aim for her. Alex Stepford was an ass, but he was good and taught her skills she'd otherwise never learn.

Slamming her back against the wall, Camila waited for the right half-second. She ducked as her opponent came within attack range. Avoiding the shot, she sprang like a cat and caught the Centaur's arm. It screamed and snapped its shoulder to shake her off. Camila grabbed the beast by its long braided hair, hauled herself onto its back and yanked its head back as far as she could without breaking bones. Its arms flailed. The monster dropped its crossbow and tried to grab the girl. With its head held captive, the Centaur could not buck. It swayed and stumbled, unable to see anything but sky.

"Move forward," Camila ordered. "_Steubus toe_." she kicked its arms swift and hard, making sure the impact left deep bruises. The beast grunted and half moaned, half whimpered. It faltered and lost its balance about every other step as though morbidly drunk. Camila kicked its arms and elbows until it understood she was in charge. Once the Centaur successfully reached the ninth block down, Camila undid her belt, secured it in the beast's mouth and gripped the belt strap in one hand, the Centaur's braid in the other. She allowed the beast its head. The minute it tried to get sassy with her again she kicked its arms.

"Try that again and you'll go headless! _Tevest nor dux, du en esol cranius!"_ The Centaur cantered a few paces before it found its balance with Camila on its back, her belt in its mouth. Once she caught the beast's rhythm under her, she signaled for a quick trot then graduated to a run. The Centaur panted, growled and moaned by the time they reached the woods. They rounded several trees, climbed a few slopes and encountered the quad Dean used to escape his attacker.

Camila pondered over it. Her eyes caught scruff marks on metal, fresh grass clinging to the tires. They found the right path. She egged the Centaur forward. Once again keeping time with the monster's pace and available tree boughs, Camila grasped hold of a low branch and released the monster. She dropped to the ground and instantly produced her knife.

The centaur, surprised to lose her weight, turned and stared at Camila, uncertain. The corners of its mouth bled where her belt cut into them. The beast backed off, head shaking; it only wanted freedom. Camila kept her expression stern and nodded toward the nearby lake.

Once the creature vanished from earshot, Camila traced Dean's attacker's prints until she heard Dean scream in agony. She dashed, hard and fast, praying she'd not lose traction or trip. Finding Sam with Dean, Camila experienced one moment of relief then the next, determined to track Dean's assailant. She raced out the woods and approached the pond mirroring the relief work etched into the side of Stone Mountain. The crunch-thrash-whack-clomp of racing hoofs told her Dean's attacker knew the hunt was on.

Passing the pond, Camila entered the woods again. She rounded trees and slipped a time or two on fallen leaves and debris. She slid to a stop at the crest of a dell and readied her knife just as the four-legged beast rounded the hillside five feet below her.

Camila poised to spring when huge rough hands grabbed her about the face and breasts and smashed her into the ground. She punched with an uppercut but the single blow knocked her senseless. She pushed her whole body upward to throw the weight off but the fist came down again, crashing into her jaw.

"Where are the Winchesters?" the voice growled, stern and murderous.The hands yanked Camila half off the ground and slapped her left then right. "WINCHESTERS, BITCH! WHERE ARE THEY?"

Blood trailed cold from the corner of her mouth. Camila parted her teeth. Her vision blurred. Her head cramped with pain. "Birds," she muttered. "Looking for birds."

She fell unconscious with the next punch.

The demon dropped her and met his companions' eyes. "We ride," he ordered.

Young punk Antion snorted, chest proffered. "We're supposed to kill Dean-"

"I SAID WE RIDE! Time's too short. I'm not staying anywhere near that angel."

Castiel crashed with his attacker down, down through the Earth's crust into a cavern, molded and formed by lava and water. In the darkness, he retaliated, deflecting one blow and serving one himself. He kicked the entity into a stalagmite, broke off a piece of sharp rock and threw it like a javelin. His enemy, invisible in the lightless cavern, dodged the strike.

Castiel did not move fast enough and hissed inward when a charged diamond knife sliced into his arm. He removed it and healed the injury.

"My, my. Castiel. Is that right?" Cass found no visible body to accompany the oily voice. "How's the family upstairs? Still partying? Does anybody miss me?"

"Eekabode," Castiel kept the snarl out of his words. "Who let you out of the gutter?" his sword slipped into his hand, gleaming with a cold light not seen by Human eyes.

The fallen angel smirked loudly. "I thought you were the polite one, Castiel. Oh, wait... that was Savon."

Cas heard the fallen angel's footfalls along crumbled rock and crunching sand. He waited for the opportunity to strike properly. "Are you responsible for opening the Water Gates?"

Eekabode paused. "What? Little, unimportant me? Open something like that? Nah. I'm here to ah... distract you, Cassy. You know the song: heros head into danger, their guardian angel is busy elsewhere. Of course, there's still the matter of that dog-did you give that sweet puppy to Sam Winchester? Nobody's ever done that before. And my-"

"Are you going to blabber all day or are going to tell me something useful?" Castiel calculated Eekabode's position about two o'clock or two-thirty.

"Oh, you want information?"

Castiel felt as though he'd been knocked into the next ice age. His vessel smashed into stone wall. The angel shrugged off the attack and rebuffed. Eekabode flew backward, sucker-punched. He smacked the ground hard, leaving a nice shallow crater in his shape. The fallen angel heaved up and slammed head-first into Castiel's middle. Both angels bashed a hole into another cavern and tumbled into a shallow underground lake.

Castiel, up first, gripped Eekabode by the neck, swung him around once and angel-whipped him into the nearest rock wall. With a turn of Castiel's wrist, the stone latticed around Eekabode's arms and legs, all but buried him in the earth.

Eekabode winced when Castiel splattered him with oil. He spit fallen drops from his lips. "Yeah. Information. I get it, okay? Um, the Winchesters are heading into trouble and um, the world will probably go up in flames and um..." his eyes landed on the sphere of fire glowing above Castiel's right hand. "Wow. I'm guessing you mean business."

"I'm not playing with you anymore." Castiel ignited the holy oil and Eekabode's voice exploded in shrieks and screams. The angel vanished and left his fallen brother writhing in agony.

The group of demons riding on the backs of hell hounds, raced out the woods and headed straight for Dean and Sam. The boys ran for Stone Mountain's rock face. Marco turned and attacked the first two demons and their mounts. She ripped them to bloodied shreds and clawed after a third but she was just one against thirty-plus.

A rider caught Sam first, just scooped him up as though he were nothing but a child. Sam wrestled and fought until the demon knocked him senseless.

Dean faced one would-be abductor, demon knife in hand. He waited for the hell hound to land at the right distance before dodging and slicing the supernatural animal along the neck. The rider chewed grass when the dog crashed and flipped upside down.

Small victory. The next second, two demons swept Dean up and held him suspended between them as they neared the mountain. Dean kicked and squirmed until Marco racked the buttocks of the hell hound on Dean's left. Winchester automatically grasped hold of the other demon's arm and tried to yank his opponent off while said demon struggled to hold on.

Marco raced harder, leaping ahead of the pack. She rebounded and charged with a full-frontal attack on the mount. Both hell hounds, Dean and the demon crashed.

"Kill the rogue hell hound!" someone ordered.

Dean gripped hold of Marco as a dozen other riders encircled them and drew deadly weapons made and used only in hell. He weakly climbed on top of Sam's dog and decided it unwise to pick a fight.

The rider holding Sam yelled in frustration. "I say we kill them NOW!"

Sam roused and stifled a moan. "Please, let Dean go. It's me you want."

"SHUT UP YOU FUCKING WHELP!" his captor spit and punched Sam hard. "Saebus! I say we KILL THEM!"

With one eye on his brother, Dean watched the leader, the one who held an unconscious Camila lapped in front, approach Sam's captor. He spoke in same demonic language Dean learned decades ago. "What is the MATTER with you? Are you all STUPID? You CAN'T KILL SAM AND DEAN WINCHESTER! Not HERE! You fuglies don't get it, do you?" he turned to the circle. "Sam and Dean Winchester have angelic blood in their veins you can't kill them up here! How can you all be so fucking stupid? You're a bunch of..." even Dean thought he'd blushed with the names Saebus used on his flunkies. "...Now get that damn dog and LET'S MOVE!"

Ropes caught Marco round the neck and another secured Dean. But he wasn't going to take off anyway, not without Sam and Camila. Perhaps the freak show already knew that. Marco moved with the pack. She snarled and snapped at any dog that moved too close.

Dean had never ridden a hell hound before. He found Marco's strides easy to hold on to; either that or Marco herself knew how to move with a rider on her back.

The procession drove through the bordering thicket of trees standing before the mountain of stone. Dean expected a pair of invisible doors to open. He blanched as he watched the riders in front disappear into the mountain as though it were a holographic projection. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes tight when Marco made her leap.

Nothing happened. Dean opened his eyes to the near-dead darkness of a tunnel. The pounding padded feet of more than a dozen hell hounds roared. Several breaths later, they broke into a world hemmed by a mountain range, carpeted with thick green grasses. Tall alien trees dotted the landscape. Soft hills roller-coasted across the plane. A grey sky, heavy with brooding clouds, hugged the atmosphere.

Dean clutched Marco's collar, searching for something familiar until the demon holding his unconscious brother rode up and pushed Sam off like a sack of undesirables. Dean discreetly cut the rope around his arms and from Marco's neck. The demons did not object; they waited on Saebus for orders.

Saebus approached and dumped Camila in much the same manner. He circled the prisoners and lifted his voice. "Who wants to make a phone call?"

"Use the girl!" someone shouted.

"No. Can't use the prisoners."

Moans and bitching swept among the collective while Dean slipped off Marco and crawled first to Sam then checked Camila. She'd been beaten pretty badly but remained intact. Sam opened his eyes when Dean moved him. He laid his fingers over Sam's lips to keep him quiet while he listened to their captors.

Saebus' name calling worsened. "That means I get to pick one a you sickos to make the call."

"Awe, come on, Saebus! Can't it wait 'till we get to the river?"

Dean couldn't watch the killing. At least he had some idea where they headed, even if he had no idea where they were.

..._There was this woman whose soul represented someone at age fifty-something. Her hair dripped with black grease. Her eyes, open and wild, burned with madness. Her pupils sprinted back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. She sat in the filth, sat in front of Sam for days. She laughed at him and spoke in languages and dialects he did not know. As the days progressed, her words degraded into slurs and the slurs into sounds. At the last, she snarled like an animal and pounded the ground, pounded until her hands were naught but bloodied stumps. She screamed and screamed until the ground absorbed her. She sank and sank until all that remained were the echos of her madness shadowing Sam's mind. He wept because for all eternity-forever and ever and ever-she'd never find peace or happiness. She'd never know love or beauty._

_And neither would he._

Grief choked Sam and he tried to roll over to hide his face and uncontrolled tears. Dean's familiar strong hands encouraged Sam to sit up and lean against him. Sam clung to his brother, trembling and weeping. He took in Dean's heartbeat, each sound it made brought him further out of the evil memory.

Dean ached inside and breathed away his own tears. It was okay. He was okay because they were together. He had his family; he and Sam could face anything, as long as they did it together.

"TELL HIM TO SHUT UP!"

It was Camila that came to Dean's rescue-verbally, anyway: "he's off his medication you cretinous recant."

The demon who took Sam rode up and pointed a black handgun at Camila. "God, I hate females," he snarled. But Saebus knocked the weapon out of his hand and the hell hounds barked and snarled at one another.

"What?" the jerk spat. "Oh, come ON, Saebus! She's just a white trash whore!"

Saebus galloped off then raced back and kicked the other demon off his mount. The hell hound whimpered with surprise. Saebus pulled beside the dissident. "I'm getting sick and tired of your mouth, Klaymoot. One more fucking syllable off your lips AND I'LL RIP YOUR GODDAMN TONGUE OUT AND FEED IT TO YOUR DOG! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" Dean followed Saebus' direction of sight, glad to watch the other demons bow their heads and dare a step back.

Sam shivered in his arms and Dean held his brother more tightly as Klaymoot took up his mount. Saebus rode his dog beside Dean and gazed at him with contempt. "Get them back on their mount. The female can use Ch'oblis' dog."

Marco had no qualms taking on both Dean and Sam. She held still while they adjust on her bare back; Sam in front. Dean felt badly for Camila. The demons roughly dragged her off the ground and plastered her on the riderless hell hound. Exhaustion made it difficult for her to sit straight. But she gazed each of her captors in the eye, daring them to put their hands in places they didn't belong. At least she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

Sam slumped over, his state of mind betrayed his self control and robbed him of strength. Dean secured one arm across his brother's chest, the other around Marco's collar. He hoped the Freddy Freaks around them weren't in too much a hurry.

They traveled across an endless valley of hills, dells and dips. The trees, when they appeared, stretched tall and slender, their branches spread far from the center and clusters of leaves sprouted from fingers at the end of each long branch. The trees could have been as tall as two hundred feet. Dean knew they were in an entirely other place, though he could not be sure whether it was still Earth or not.

Somewhere toward nightfall, Camila fell off her mount. Sam nearly did the same twice and Dean adjusted his sore ass so that Sammy rested against his shoulder, his arms lifeless at either side. Because of Sam's exhaustion, Marco slowed her pace, carefully balancing the brothers. One demon rode up and whacked Dean hard at the back of his head. Dean himself had been zoning, allowing Marco to do all the work.

Another demon and its hell hound rounded in front of Marco. In the light of a powerful moon, Dean winced at the demon's true visage; a hideous thing of grey skin and skeletal face. Long brown hair fell over its shoulders and it gripped its mount with long fingers.

"You're making us fucking late, Winchester. It's time to just handle the situation." and the freak hauled up a rifle made of wood and bone.

Marco barked and snarled. She crouched, ready to slide her charges off her back and attack the offender.

Dean shifted Sam a little to the left and smiled like a cat. "I wouldn't shoot the dog, if I were you, _ukluk_," he warned, using an ancient dirty name. "you kill the dog, you'll end up hauling our sorry asses along with you. Besides, Marco here... she'll take the shot then tear into your ass while she bleeds out-"

Dean's monologue wasn't necessary. Seabus galloped from the front and knocked the weapon away with a whip. He hauled out a rusted blade and set it under the offender's chin. "How many times do I have to tell you outholes not to touch them? Hm? You were what, now? You were going to shoot the dog? Were you?" without an answer, Seabus produced his handgun and shot the idiot. Seabus tugged his mount toward the front. "Antion, keep watch at the rear! We're almost there!"

Marco passed the other dog, crouching for a spring. Dean felt her growl vibrate throughout her body. Puppy was in a _bad_ mood. The other dog did not appreciate the warning. It snapped its teeth, lips lifted and fangs extended, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Antion rode up and kicked the riderless hell hound into submission.

"Here, Gorthus! None of that now, you bloodied cur! Mind yourself. What's your bitch's name, Winchester?"

"Marco." Dean barely spoke. He found the demon's distaste at the name amusing, but did not show it.

"Here! Marco! _Gastog, un achoun_!"

Dean rolled his heavy eyes. "She's protecting Sam."

"Stay on my left flank. The last thing we need is a bitch brawl. GORTHUS!" the demon snapped his fingers and the hell hound backed down with a lick to its chops. Its freakish red eyes bounced between Marco and the demon.

Sam drew a deep breath and creased his face. He was so tired he could sleep standing. "What's wrong?" he asked Dean.

Antion answered instead: "Your dog smells like angel. It's pissing the other hounds off."

Sunrise greeted the demons and their captives by the time they reached the river. Most of the demons dismounted and let their mounts drink and take care of other business. Dean slipped off Marco first then helped Sam down. With a silent communication between them, Dean left his brother to check on Camila.

She sat slumped over. Her white hair curtained the world from her eyes and the bruises and gashes along her left cheek. Dean laid a careful hand on her knee.

"Hey. Camila? You hanging in there?" Dean turned the cringe on his face into a half-ass smile. He handed her a bottle of water from his back pack.

"Thanks," she whispered. Tilting her head back, the huntress drank half the bottle, wiped the lid and returned it to Dean. "They're waiting for the ferryman."

"The... the what?"

"Our little band of orcs?" Camila settled weary brown eyes on him. "They're waiting for the ferryman."

Dean turned his head slightly, eyeing her out the corner. "Why's that so familiar? Ferryman... as in..."

"Styx." she finished for him.

Dean pointed to the river before them. "That can't be it-"

"Why not?"

Dean's expression turned stern. "B'cuz it's a _fairytale_."

Camila merely nodded. "Until a few weeks ago, so were dragons." she scoffed. "Hell, half the stuff we hunt down..."

Dean did not listen to the rest of her case. His eyes caught the lay of the mountains, now far away. The way the bright moonlight hit them revealed rills and deep cuts sliding vertically from sky to ground. The shadow-shapes looked familiar. Dean produced the medallion and flicked on a small flashlight from his key chain. He gazed at the pattern before scanning the land. The mountains behind them fell in sheer cliffs. The river cut through the land with a single major bend. The western horizon lay flat. With one eye on the bickering demons, Dean counted the number of trees in their periphery.

Fourteen. A single line with a bend on the medallion formed a 'river'. Shorter lines echoed the sheer cliffs. A second line between the 'cliffs' and the horizon angled downward indicating a drop in the valley and a waterfall. A line across the middle of the medallion echoed the horizon.

Fourteen dots; one for each tree. One line on the artifact led from the 'mountains' to the horizon. "West," Dean muttered.

Camila leaned closer from her quiet mount. "What?"

"West. We need to head west."

Castiel returned to the tourist center. A chilled breeze fanned through the streets and told Cass of fights and chases, of monsters and missing friends. He found the empty restaurant and picked his way through shattered windows, glass fragments and broken furniture. The angel followed Dean's and Sam's footprints, visible only to a super creature's senses. From the restaurant's backdoor to the curb of another dusty, deserted street, Cass pieced together events following his disappearance.

Human footprints marked the ground with a familiar pattern. Castiel touched them, stood straight and expanded his senses, searching the center, the mountain and the forest lands nearby. "Dean." he softly mourned.

"Awe. How touching!"

The mocking voice cooed behind Castiel and the angel turned, blue eyes stern with suspicion.

The figure, tall, blonde, wearing a long white coat, boots and a long sword, advanced by a step. His entire posture read soldier/warrior. His smile, complimented by ice-blue eyes, would have raised Dean's hackles. "Looking for your human friend? I understand he was chased down and attacked by a Centaur. Don't know if he survived. I must admit, I'm not impressed with humans. Frail, arrogant little bitches-all bark, little bite. Just flies, really. Especially the Winchesters." the soldier shrugged. His white coat flared in the breeze. "Well... I guess I'll have to take that one back. The Winchesters aren't _flies_. Not really. They're sort of the exception, aren't they? Messed things up for every one. FUBAR, as it were."

Castiel blinked when memory hit him. "Abbadon." he guessed.

"Oh! You _do_ remember me-"

"How the hell did you get out?"

The fallen archangel hesitated, "is-is that a pun?" he inclined his head, expecting an answer. But Castiel refused to play the game. The angel took another step: "I noticed you've disposed of Eekabode. He was supposed to bring you to me."

Castiel remained unfazed. "Where are Dean and Sam?"

"Safe for the moment. My merry men have orders not to do anything to them-or their dog. You, on the other hand..." Abbadon snapped his fingers.

A broad translucent shape lifted from the ground, slightly phased from the present reality so that it slipped through building roofs and above the tree lines. Spiked wings shaded the glistening southwestern light. A large spiked head bearing larger, bladed teeth leered at Castiel. Four giant clawed feet settled on the ground with eerie silence. A set of dark eyes, designed to pierce the lurid realms of hell, bore down on the angel with the same heated contempt as its demonic owner.

The dragon roared, but rather than react to the intimidation factor, Castiel stood perfectly calm. Like a rogue tornado, solid and hellbent, Ao Ji dropped from the clouds and rammed into the beast. Castiel power-shot the fallen angel. Abbadon's powerful form wiped out a nearby gift shop. Splinters, merchandise and glass bulleted the street like miniature asteroids. That next half-second, he speared into Castiel and the two super creatures rooted a heated four-foot trench in the asphalt.

Castiel jammed his sword downward, but only sliced into Abbadon's arm. The archangel backslapped Cass into another building.

Abbadon winced with pain. He staggered to unsturdy feet and searched for the dragons. No, not on the ground. No, not to the east...

Like a ball of fire, the beasts plunged from above the cloud cover and slammed into the ground half a mile from the tourist center. The sonic boom shattered all glass and swept up a storm of hot winds and flying debris. A frustrated roar called from the ground. Abbadon's pet dragon lifted off and arrowed for its master. The archangel pointed to Castiel's last location.

"Don't kill him, Raucous. We need him."

The dragon flew strait to the wreckage before a bolt of light struck its chest, bulldozing the ancient wyrm backward.

Ao Ji met Raucous from the backside and wrapped his lithe, snake-like body around Abbadon's felled wyrm. The dragon king sank his impossibly long teeth into Raucous' neck. The crunch-crack of breaking bones made Abbadon cringe. Scales from Raucous' wound toppled and clang like shards of glass.

Ao Ji drifted to the earth. He dragged his dead prize away, much like a cat with a rodent its own size. Castiel stirred from his crash site, exhausted and pained. Abbadon swept up a dragon scale. He struck with raw intensity and pierced Castiel's chest. Bones cracked, blood poured.

Cass clawed uselessly at his adversary. Dragon scales rendered angels immobile; poison like deadman's blood to a vampire. Abbadon clutched his wilting prize face-close and whispered into Cass' ear: "I need to open the Abyss, and release my armies, dear Castiel. And you will be my shiny, new, freshly-made key."

_Voices and emotions skittered across the surface of reality in discombobulated communication. Zachariah smiled with blood on his teeth. Gabriel winked. Dean's father turned away and melted into shadows._

_John Winchester's photo hung in a large frame. Finger-sized, handcrafted ceramic masks budded from the frame itself. Their eyes either squeezed tightly or bulged open as with the suddenness of death. All of them screamed in agony or from some unnamed horror. The wall before Dean resembled Dean Smith's office The frame of masks spoke, lips moved, tongues flickered. No sound. John stared at his son, eyes grim; dark with burdens and secrets._

"_Why do I keep dreaming?" Dean asked himself. "What's it all about?"_

"_Changes," John answered from the photo. "You failed me. You disobeyed my last order. You did not kill Sam."_

"_Hell no."_

"_I ordered you to kill your brother. I told you because I loved you, Dean. You carry so much in your heart; death and instability, blood and horror. Your brother is cursed. Your brother is a curse. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to help him-if it were possible."_

_Dean's eyes turned cold. "So that's supposed to be some sort of 'gosh, I'm sorry'? Keep it to yourself."_

"_I've tried to teach you the importance of killing monsters in our world, Dean. All things supernatural-"_

"_Black vs white: your world, your issues. Not mine. How many innocents did you bury because they didn't fit your white-only standards? Huh? How many secrets did you tuck away so that me and Sam ended up shark bait? How many lies did you feed us?"_

_Zachariah's voice sneered behind him. "As many as were necessary, Dean. Everything and anything we could dish out to separate you from your... appendage." He nodded to the right where ten year-old Sammy sat, legs crossed, hands in his lap. Guilty sadness stole the light from his eyes._

_Dean dropped to his knees before Sam, disheartened. Zachariah crouched next to him, a smirk pinched his chubby cheeks. "Who would have known that something so small, innocent and dependant was made to carry the greatest evil in existence?" Zachariah patted Sammy's arm. "Don't worry too much, Samster. We'll try again in your next life. Probably in the next... oh... three hundred years." he cackled and stood straight._

_Sam's hazel eyes drift up. "There won't be a next time, Zachariah. Castiel already saw to that."_

Sam's words rolled around Dean's head. His eyes cracked open, greeting a world stilled by the silence of night. He stared at clusters of stars through the slender branches of a tall, unknown tree. Far, far away a dog or other animal howled. The wings of a lone bat flapped in a rush. Closer to their vicinity, the demons and their blood hounds huddled in a loose circle. A hot debate raised and lowered their voices and once Dean heard the clash of blades.

At what point had he fallen asleep? Dean thought of the rations in his back pack, grateful he and Sam had the foresight to bring munchies. Marco stirred from her place between Sam and the tree. The hell hound yawned and languidly stretched. She panted, licked her paw, scanned the area, panted again then dropped her horned head. Dean ruefully considered the irony of his fondness for the hell hound. Yet Marco was more than that. Dean recalled what the demons said about Marco smelling like angels.

Sam's breath hitched next to him. His brother's hand jerked, fingers twitched madly. He shivered and whimpered. Dean rolled over and gently set his chin on Sam's shoulder. "_Shhhh. Just a dream, Sammy."_ he kept his voice low, soft, so as not to rouse their captors' ire. Seabus' temper flared past the point of forgiveness several hours ago. He hacked off one demon's head and threatened three others with the same guiltless treatment.

Camila was right to call them orcs.

Dean sat up and raised his eyes east. Nothing loomed but a sky filled with bright stars. Somewhere several miles away lay their way back home. He worried about Bobby and Cass and wished with everything he could find a way to get word to Castiel.

The soft tones of E-minor dipped into a D-note followed by Middle C. The music, barely hummed, rose to a G, B and back to E-minor. Sam hummed in his sleep, his mind walked in unknown lands. Dean leaned back to catch the notes and guessed the song. He followed his little brother's quiet, cracking voice, picked out the half notes and found the words.

_Trust I seek and I find in you_ _  
Every day for us something new_

Sam choked out of sleep and opened his eyes. Tears washed down his temples. He swallowed hard. Dean sat beside him; promising protection like a Get-out-of-Jail-Free Card.

_Open mind for a different view  
and nothing else matters _

Dean's voice, however subtle, tore away the abstract, tattered dreams of Hell. Sam followed his brother's lead, lipping the song as Dean continued to softly sing. Tears burned Sammy's eyes and he swallowed with a dry throat.

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say_

_And nothing else matters._

"_Hey, Sammy,"_ Dean lowered his head to keep his voice steady and soothing.

Sam clenched his fists; cold fingers longed for real warmth. "I sang it all the time," he whispered. "It was what I could remember..." fresh tears choked the wind from his lungs and Little Brother trembled. His voice broke. "...years and years... and I remembered-" Sam squeezed his eyes tight, wishing away memories of torment and despair. He shook his head, fighting tears and failed.

"Shhh." Dean gathered him about the shoulders and held him close.

Sam weakly sobbed against Dean's warmth. He gripped Dean's jacket, seeking solace. "God, God," he tried to keep his voice down, "save me!"

Camila crept from her place at the tree and silently opened Sam's pack. "Did you bring his meds?" she whispered.

Dean shot a sidelong glance at the demon group, busy torturing one of their own. "Yeah. But I don't remember the doses." her hand found his and Camila slipped Dean a bottle of water. He cracked it open while she blindly rummaged for pill bottles.

Dean kept his voice at whisper-level as he helped his brother up. Marco raised her head. She pushed up and cast her gaze eastward. Dean's street sense told him a wary dog foretold trouble. "Here, Sammy," he kept one eye on their four-legged friend, one on Sam. Camila handed Sam two pills; half the needed medication.

Marco growled low, deep in the back of her throat. She nervously licked her lips, red eyes flared. Her back and withers ruffled. Her growl increased from a soft warning to a threat.

Dean jumped to his haunches. "Camila, hand me our bags, would ya? Sammy, I'm sorry, but we need you on your feet."

"Marco's upset," Sam's voice moused. "There's only three of us." he latched onto Dean's strength and stumbled as he managed to stand. The night air chilled him in ways that had nothing to do with his body. He wrapped his arms about himself and suppressed the urge to find a small place to hide. Sam grew vaguely aware that Dean and Camila discussed weapons, provisions and the possibility of escape. Dean pressed the water bottle between Sam's hands.

"Drink up, Sammy. We're about to hit the road off-course."

"Why? What's wrong?" he heard Marco growl. He heard sounds from their captives as they put out their campfire. The other hell hounds howled in alarm. Camila's ride stood and snorted before it too howled.

Dean and Sam both covered their ears in pain. Unaffected by the psychic sound, Camila bade Marco to stand close to the brothers. She picked up Dean's pack and handed him Sam's before mounting.

Head throbbing, Dean helped his brother on Marco's back as their guards trotted toward them. "Move!" Dean did not need a second command. He climbed behind Sam and gripped Marco's collar. The demons spoke in deep, guttural tones. Dean winced. The language was not meant to be spoken anywhere but in hell and the tones, laced with psionics, barbed his ears. Sam moaned, covered his ears and bowed over.

They were saved further torment when Seabus ordered the move. One guard snapped his whip and hit Camila's dog. With a yelp, the hell hound chased after the group. Marco did not need such a warning, but she heard the twang-whoosh of the whip and gave the offending demon a deadly look. That same menacing growl started below the dog's bowels.

Dean watched the demon, to see if he was going to be stupid about Marco. Movement at the dying campfire caught his eye. Dean gripped Sam tightly and urged Marco forward. She lurched and Dean thought he and Sam might fall off. He seized her collar and held it as securely as he did his brother. Marco ran at an insane pace, driving across the land like a cheetah on the hunt for its life.

Behind the demon riders and their prisoners, wide hooves, burdened with forms as long as eighteen hands pounded the ground from the eastern valley. The stomp of Centaurs galloped and leapt first for the demon guards. The guards and their dogs all met a bloodied death; their decapitation came first and as the pack of Centaurs progressed, they rendered the demons and their hell hounds to pieces.

Dean had never ridden a horse, but if he had, he'd swear the hell hound that carried him and Sam ran far faster. Marco raced to the middle of the demonic pack. The group neared the river then flew along its bank. Only faint, quarter-phase moonlight and the stars guided them along soft, grassy earth. Now regaining his strength, Sam sat straight. He leaned slightly forward and latched onto his puppy's collar.

Dean let go and slipped his hands under Sam's arms and gripped his brother's broad shoulders. He glanced back and watched as three hounds died, skewered by long lances. The demon riders lost their heads, debrained by crossbow bolts. The Centaurs devoured the distance one then two demon riders at a time.

An insentient bellow erupted from the front of the pack, echoing through the still night air. No doubt Seabus himself made the chilling, down-to-the-ground noise. To Dean's amazement, Marco seemed to know exactly what it meant. She veered north, pounding the ground with everything in her. Marco outstripped her fellow hounds as they formed a single horizontal line. As they ran, Dean noticed there was no ground ahead, no river to their left.

He and Sam could not call out in time. A sudden and deadly drop in the valley came at them. The hell hounds raced even faster and as one unit, they leapt off the precipice into darkness.


	15. Pursuit

**Writer's note**: I do apologize to my readers for the long delay. The chapter turned out longer than I thought it would and there was so much going on, I realized I needed to slow things down in the story; details are necessary. So I'm submitting a shorter piece here. And I send heartfelt gratitude to everyone who has kindly taken the time to read this work and commented on it. THANK YOU! ^-^

Pursuit

The force of wind cut Dean's breath. He rested his forehead on the back of Sammy's shoulder and tightened his embrace. They fell ten feet, twenty... forever. Dean refused to admit he wept in the dark.

"_It's hellfire, Dean."_

He remembered falling, falling until agony pierced his body from all sides. He remembered the dark lit by sullen red; the light of fire. Dean feared they headed for hell. If it were possible, he tried to grip Sam more tightly. Never, never, never was he going to lose his brother again. Sam rubbed his cheek into Dean's hair; a silent _it's okay, I'm here_.

Dean's fear subsided and distantly he heard demons whoop and cry with glee.

Camila screamed in terror.

The free-fall ended when Marco touched ground and landed at a hard run to steady her momentum. She galloped along a line of trees, and U-turned back to the group. Sam slumped forward. Dean slightly leaned back, tugged his brother close to his chest.

General confusion followed the drop and the adrenaline rush. The demon pack and their dogs copied Marco's landing; a brief run into the woods then they U-turned Seabus' proximity. The demon groupies shouted, argued and the hell hounds barked. Seabus roared orders and insults until he loped off someone's head. His action only added to the restless disarray.

Five hell hounds, out of sync with the rest of the group, crashed hard and tumbled, pooch-over-rider and jerked to a halt. Two dogs bucked as though rabid and sent their riders flying. A third hound turned on its own rider in a vicious blood bath. Affected by the smell of spilt blood, two dogs' obedient disposition turned inside out. They attacked the one murderous beast. Rams' horns smacked and shocked the air with a cracking sound. The rest of the dog pack barked, either in threat or cajoled the fight. Two tangled in a roll of claws, jaws and a horror song of growls and yelps. The demons did their best to break up the gruesome fight. One demon ended dead by near-decapitation. Another lost an arm and a chunk from his leg.

Seabus shot the air overhead to break up the fight. When he failed a crossbow bolt from the precipice pierced clear through both hell hounds. One died instantly. The other howled in agony until a second shaft sank through its head. The demon party lifted their eyes in unison and backed off several yards.

Seabus' voice grated in the air. The vibrations of the demon's language drilled into Dean's head. The riders sternly admonished their disobedient animals and the demons beat a few dogs to remind the rest who was in charge. As the dogs settled, the ensemble pushed their way into the nearby wood and hacked out a clearing in a matter of minutes while two demons stood guard between the party and the cliff.

Three demons cantered to Dean. They trotted around him and Sam like sharks closing on prey. Marco panted and growled. She tilted her head just enough to display a mouthful of silver teeth. Sam's dog shifted her weight, ready to take on whichever dog wanted a piece of her or her charges.

Another demon emerged from the woods, an unconscious Camila dangled over his shoulder. He jerked back when Marco snapped and snarled, bit the air and flared her red eyes at him. "Whoa, there, bitch," the demon placated. "Not here t' pick a fight with ya. Just dropping off-hey, Iblis, you brainless crapface, don't go do nothin' stupid! Seabus' already said anybody who riles the dogs and offs and gets mauled by 'em ain't gonna get rescued." he dumped Camila and huffed off, muttering to himself.

Dean roved his eyes left where 'Iblis' reigned his hound back. The other two demon guards copied. Marco snorted. Sam leant forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. Exhaustion drained him of coherent, rational thought. He was so sorry Dean ended up in this mess. It was his fault. He pet Marco with weak fingers, seeking comfort. They were here to drag him back to hell. His brother and Camila would pay a dear price. Sam's heart throbbed throughout his body. If he slipped off Marco, he'd never get back up.

Dean needed to get Sam down and rested. He read their guards' body language. They sat on their mounts and stared at Marco. The lack of light made it impossible for Dean to read their faces, but their shoulder lines suggested boredom and lack of attention. Laying hands on his brother's back, Dean carefully leaned over. "Sammy," he said softly, "I gotta check on Camila. Just stay here until I get back." Sam only nodded.

Dean slipped off and unslung his backpack. He considered it no small miracle that he still had it. God knew where Sam's disappeared to. Worse yet, the other two medallions were in it. He knelt beside Camila and wiped bloodied hair from her face. "You still with us?" he asked quietly.

She inhaled and rolled on her right side, facing him. "Whaddo they want from us, Dean?" she weakly moaned. "Why won't they just kill us outright?"

Dean shrugged. "They're demons, Camila. Who knows. Anything broken?"

"Lots of skin. Few blood vessels. No bones. I'm tired of being treated like a ragdoll." she choked up and sniffed off tears.

Dean dug into his pack. "I have water. Let me-"

"Save it. Give it to Sam," Camila croaked. "Chances are he's in shock. And we're being watched, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we got company. But Marco's answering the door." Dean scrounged for Sam's meds.

"No," Camila moaned. "I mean the Centaurs. I hear pounding hoofs up there."

Dean's eyes climbed the cliffside. In the dark, he spotted several figures at the lip. He could not guess why they just stood there. They stared down; their eyes sparked, backlit by some inner light. He hoped the Centaurs were not as capable of leaping and landing as the hell hounds. Dean tucked away any tell-tale of emotion and turned back to Camila. "I have three bottles of water, Camila-" he clammed up and winced as she sat and popped her neck.

"Yeah, okay," she relented.

Sam roused when Dean checked his pulse. Little Brother choked on a sob and trembled. "I'm so sorry!" he whispered. "I didn't want you caught up, Dean. I begged them to let you go..."

"Sh, sh, sh!" Dean rounded left and laid hands on Sammy's shoulders. "Let's get you down. Marco probably needs to pee. Come on, don't make me manhandle you."

Sam came down with no grace and no ability to hold himself. Dean figured he'd end up with more than an armful of his big little brother but still grunted with the impact. Sam tried to sink to his knees. "Oh, no, no, no," Dean secured Sam's right arm over his shoulders, supported his drooping brother and half dragged him to the nearest tree.

Camila helped him lower Sam against the trunk. She stripped off her jacket. "We got natives in front and behind us. It's only a matter of time until one or the other decides we're too much trouble." she folded her jacket into a pillow while Dean stripped his and laid it over Little Brother.

"They can't kill us," Sam slurred. "They're... I think I know who these dirt bags are, why the Centaurs are after them." he shivered, though not from the cold.

Dean made a quick survey. Marco scratched an ear, momentarily unconcerned. "Yeah, well, save the story for now, Mr. Rogers. Let's get you off the roller coaster and stabilized for a few minutes, hu?" Sam succumbed to Dean's brand of TLC. He wanted to lie on something soft with Roxi snuggled against his knees. Dean kept one eye on Marco as the hell hound stretched her back then shook her whole body. Camila huddled next to Sam and plunged her hands into Dean's back pack.

Dean said nothing but didn't particularly like someone digging into his things. Camila handed him two energy bars and a small packet of jerky. He handed one bar back to her. "You're gonna need something yourself, Camila, since you didn't BYOBP." She tilted her head, puzzled. "What?" Dean thought he might have said something stupid.

"I love how you can just rolls stuff off your tongue like that. I'm guessing you said 'Bring Your Own Back Pack?"

Dean tossed her that patented mischievous smile. "Takes practice, charm... good breeding." he squeezed Sam's arm when his brother huffed.

He almost could not see her lined lips. Camila nodded in concession. "Sam, did you bring anything with you to eat? Of course you did. Coat pocket."

It took a moment for Dean's brain to hit reverse. He nodded once and poked his hand in Sam's inside jacket pocket. Sam girl-slapped him with a fainting hand. "Hey," Dean playfully called.

"...tickles." Sam answered.

Camila undid the wrapper and eyed the Centaurs, "There's no way we can outrun those things," she said between bites.

"Oh, really?" from his pack, Dean produced his Taurus .1119 and checked his pockets for extra bullets. "So, other than foul language, what kills those things?"

Camila wadded up the wrapper and stuck it in a pocket. "Brass arrowheads dipped in Human blood and sprinkled with basil."

Dean gave her a second glance. "Well, there's a first. Will a regular brass knife work, too?"

"You got one?"

"In the Impala." he didn't see her nod. "So why haven't the carousel rejects attacked us yet?"

Camila studied the cliffside and heard the waterfall in the background. It would have been beautiful were they not prisoners or running from enemies. It would have been better all together were the demons not cracking the bones of their latest victim of cannibalism. "I think they're waiting for the stallion."

"Stallion?" Dean echoed.

She shrugged. "Or alpha mare. It depends on the herd."

Sam weakly stirred. "Or maybe we escaped just outside their territory."

Camila frowned and wished for a cup of fresh hot coffee. "I don't think that will stop them, Sam. We thought they came out only at sunset, remember? Remember that one you helped me take down in Montana?"

"'was a colt...um...Camila." Sam's mind faded with weariness. He clutched Dean's jacket. If he were a cat, he'd tightly curl inside it.

Camila shrugged. "It wasn't _that_ young."

The minutes slipped into a quiet hour or more. Dean joined his listless brother propped against the large tree. Marco rested next to Sam's left while Sam slept lightly, his head against Dean's left shoulder. Dean and Camila kept their eyes open, their minds alert. Further from the trees, Saebus spat orders at his demons and the dogs. It didn't take a genius to tell the horde were nervous. They struck up a bonfire and watched the loitering Centaurs. Two demons fed the hell hounds and even offered Marco a few slabs of meat. But Marco merely sniffed at it, sat up and rudely yawned. The demon 'waiter' sneered at Sam's dog before looking to the brothers.

"Yer dog needs to eat."

Sam lifted tired eyes at the fiend. The demon's grey skin reflected the bonfire light. Sam lightly winced as worms crawled out from scabs and pus dripped from infected boils. Saebus must have cursed this demon some time ago. "She prefers steak sauce on her meat," he quietly answered.

The demon, wearing an emaciated drug addict, leered, his face neared Sam. "_You_ give it to her, then. I ain't runnin' a restaurant."

Marco growled and her lips twitched. Dean grinned. "No," he remarked, "but you might _become_ the restaurant if you don't back away from my brother."

The inhuman thing locked eyes with Dean Winchester and sized him up. Weapon or not, the look Dean gave him clearly delineated intent. Anger and impatience brewed behind those green eyes. Said demon slank away; his sneer disappeared into the dark.

Dean closed his eyes and settled against the tree. Sam shifted so their arms rested against each other. Dean turned just slightly to give Sam as much comfort as he could. Sam was doing very well considering the circumstances. But it might be that the stress hadn't caught up with him yet; they both ran on adrenaline.

Not more than a few minutes thereafter, Dean heard Camila gasp with surprise. His eyes snapped open and upward. "What the hell?" he asked softly with a nudge to Sam.

Even the demons froze in their tracks. The hell hounds started howling. Atop the precipice, a female white Centaur stared with pale eyes. Knowing the visual signs of an aerial mental survey, Dean scrambled to his feet and helped Sam to his.

"Go! The trees might slow them down."

Inhuman shouts in an unknown language closed in. Marco snarled loudly before she followed Camila and the boys deeper into the woods. Behind them sounds of carnage; shattered bones, screams, dogs barking, growling, dying with a whimper. The Centaurs leapt off the precipice and slammed into the group of demons who foolishly loitered.

Five demons on their mounts followed their prisoners on the blind run. Two Centaurs pursued, easily tracking them. One demon rider and its mount crashed. The hell hound fought. Vicious sounds sent chills down Sam's spine.

Marco raced ahead ever faster. She swung back with a hairpin turn and launched into an approaching, unsuspecting Centaur.

"Marco!" Sam called. He took three steps before Camila held him back. She took hold of his wrist and pulled but it wasn't until Dean took over that Sam left his dog to her own fight.

Marco needed no one's help. Unlike the other hell hounds who charged for the beasts' bellies, Marco leapt for the throat. Her weight toppled the Centaur off balance and they dropped. The beast screamed as Marco mauled its face and bloodied the chest. The Centaur stumbled back to its feet and ran, the protective hell hound tagged the beast's hoofs and leapt upon the Centaur's back.

Camila, Dean and Sam passed Seabus' handmade campsite. They half-slipped down a leaf cluttered slope, cleared the woods and entered a wide valley as sunrise touched the world. The rumble of claws and hooves dogged them. Dean yanked Camila out of the way as the wounded Centaur emerged. Marco, undeterred by either size or strength, lunged and toppled the beast once again. Her claws punctured arteries and as the one Centaur died, another galloped to replace it. Several crossbow bolts sunk into the ground around the hell hound and a machete came too close to nicking Puppy's back foot. Hardly afraid, Marco gripped her kill by the hair and faced the other three Centaurs. Her lips curled up, revealing her best business assets. She shook the carcass twice to intimidate.

Dean tried to conjure a plan to get his hands on the machete. Nothing ends a problem like hacking off a head. But every idea that squeezed out his brain left Camila and Sam open for attack.

"Shit," Dean hissed. The Centaur closest to him turned, crossbow raised and aimed at Camila. The slow, mournful echo of whalesong cut through tension and everyone, everything that heard it, froze. The Centaur bent on killing Camila swept the crossbow away and aimed toward the river instead.

Camila gasped as the river gurgled and heaved over its banks. The water rose like an ocean wave, dark and opaque. But rather than toppling, shadows emerged from its watery hues. Red eyes, like Marco's, preceded powerful black bodies with four equine legs. At first Dean thought the creatures were horses. But the deadly alicorns bearing squared, razor sharp edges redefined the beasts. Dean crouched and dragged Sam down with him as black Friesian unicorns charged Centaurs, hell hounds and demons alike.

Those demons who survived the Centaur attack whacked and shot at everything around them. The black beasts impaled, stomped, struck and re-struck the dead. The Centaurs shot, knifed and bucked their new opponents, often screaming, spitting and cursing them in an unknown dialect of _Coldfire_.

One Centaur turned from the fight and gripped the machete meant for Marco. Marco dropped her prized kill and raced for the monster as it tromped up and aimed to behead Camila. Sam's dog attacked the beast's flank. The Centaur kicked Marco in the chest. She landed hard with a yelp but rebounded and came back for another shot. The beast sliced her this time.

Swallowing words and air, Sam scrambled to her aid but Dean grabbed him with both arms and yanked him back as the machete whooshed through the air. When the machete missed, the Centaur hurled a smaller knife. With Sam secured in his arms, Dean leaned away as the weapon pierced the tree.

The Centaur screamed and reared. Dean reached over Sam's huddled form and yanked Camila by the collar as the machete sank into the tree trunk just missing her. Camila flailed over while the monster retrieved its new toy. It spit blood and hovered over the three humans, assessing which to kill first. Its eyes met Dean's and its thumb ran lightly across the blade.

"_Notched tor und bealine noth. Loh-kogk, Dean Winchester."_

Dean smiled with a look he had not used since his time in Hell. Cold ire wrought by years of endless death and torture lit his eyes. Sam squirmed in his arms, but Dean held him fast. Sam did not need to see the look in his eye; the smile that usually came with bloodied teeth. _"Logk nor und youvrn glaist Alistair. Nupblim alud kardia storg."_

"What's that mean?" Camila eyed him with panic. "What are you saying?"

An unearthly roar sounded from a unicorn as it charged their attacker. The Centaur drew back to throw the machete at the back of its head. The machete fell as the unicorn reared and sliced the Centaur's chest with hooves glistening with blood. The Centaur fell and landed hard on Marco. The unicorn stomped on its opponent twice before the half-humanoid, half-beast kicked the Friesian's jaw. The unicorn stumbled with impact and the Centaur grasped hold of the fallen machete and sank it into the attacker's right shoulder. The unicorn roared then nickered. Its withers shuddered with pain, eyes bright with determination.

Camila gasped as the Centaur rolled back to its feet, its body shivered with cuts, bruises and broken ribs. It stepped around Marco's fallen form. It snorted as the unicorn backed further still.

Sam struggled against Dean's grip again. "Marco," he whispered once, "Marco?" his chest heaved with fearful grief. "Marco!"

Dean wanted to get up and make a run for it. But they had no place to run to, no place to hide, no weapons to speak of. He trembled, embracing Sam with everything he had. Dean watched Camila stand and he wanted to tell her to stay put, to stop moving. She made herself a target. But he could not speak. Dean simply held onto the one thing that mattered more to him than his own soul.

Camila stood still, gauging the situation and the distance between the two creatures. The injured unicorn refused to move. The Centaur remained stationary, knowing the unicorn would die defending the humans. Or so the huntress hoped. Step by tentative step, she approached the equine beast until it zeroed on her with shining red eyes. It snorted and lifted its lips, displaying two sets of feline-like teeth. Camila's skin chilled. Her heart raced, her mouth ran dry.

"I just want to help," she said softly. Slowly she stretched forth her hand and tried to ignore the fact that the beast stood twenty-two hands at the shoulder and twenty hands long. The unicorn did not move. Camila restrained her movement; did not let the Centaur's movements distract her. Relief eased stress as her hand wrapped around the machete. With one heave she remove the offensive object.

The Centaur charged. The unicorn shoved Camila aside and vaulted head first into the fight. The beasts collided with a tangle of hooves, heads, limbs and heavy, muscular middles. Dean kept his eyes on Camila when the Centaur grabbed the unicorn's muzzle and tried to pry the creature's mouth apart. He shuddered when bones cracked and the unicorn mournfully wailed.

Another set of hoofs thunked the ground behind him and Sam. Camila's eyes widened and Dean met her expression with puzzlement before a solid, searing object set against his neck. A soft nicker rumbled behind Dean's ear. The world dimmed, blurred and flashed out white.

Author's Note: I hope this wasn't too difficult a chapter to follow. Please let me know if the story here moved too fast.


	16. Sacrifice

A/N I am so sorry for the lateness in this update! After three rewrites, it's finally done! Monologue alert, here. Much thanks to Ainaof for taking a gander at it first-sure appreciate it, hon!

Sacrifice

The simplicity of pure existence surrounded Sam Winchester. Life energy, holy light and absolute beauty purged and blinded the darkness within him. Sam breathed it in. His soul floated on water. Sweet air, cool as the early spring, tingled against his skin.

He lived. He breathed. Light and breath enriched his veins; tangible like blood but flawless.

In spite of the moment of contentment, Sam recalled the lurking evil in his soul. What dark irony that so many innocent people died everyday while he, _the_ _abomination_, should continue to exist. Stephen Hawking once theorized that everything is lost in the gullet of a black hole. The entire scientific community balked at this idea; the totality of non existence is inconceivable. Sam acknowledged the hypothesis of non-existence. He craved it. How much easier it would be to never exist at all than to live a life marked for evil and destruction.

"_Because it __**had**__ to be you, Sam."_

As if Heaven had a vat filled with unborn souls and the angels sifted through the barrel and hauled up Sam's soul and said "_here, this one's useless. We'll let the devil have this one_." And they shipped him off to Mary Winchester via Stork UPS. "_Here you, are, Ma'am, one cursed child, bundled up like a disposable diaper for the devil.'_

To make matters more heart breaking, they assign him to the world's best brother. Sam did nothing to deserve Dean; Dean certainly deserved far, far more, far better.

_That's not true, Sam._

His eyes opened and he stared into a moody grey sky. Tears blurred his vision. _Cursed and useless_. "Dressy Bessy for the devil," Sam murmured aloud.

_No._ The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Sam figured it oozed from his own head; the anti-psychotics now flushed from his system.

He sat up, trembling. A collection of giant glass sculptures angled to and from his position. Sam found his reflection in the wall of a monolith; it looked better than he felt. Water surged and flowed within the sculpture. Sam watched his reflection change to a figure he did not recognize.

"I am a throw-away soul," he reiterated. Sam combed long fingers through his long hair. "Someone had to be given to Lucifer; a left over bone for the dog. They chose me. And then..." Sam bit his lip as tears stung his eyes. "... then Dean. They stuck him with me, with this. His life could have been so much better. He lost everything."

_It had to be you because you were the only one who could take it, Sam. You were the only one throughout history strong enough to withstand temptation._

"I drank demon blood! People died because of me!"

Sam assumed he hallucinated. He never made it a habit talking to either his own shadow or his reflection. But the image before him carried on a conversation and Sam was not clear-minded enough to tell the difference. The reflection shook his head and the figure stepped forward and emerged from the glass-and-water wall. Gentle eyes settled on Sam. A set of iridescent wings flickered with transparent colors. The angel knelt and tried to touch Sam, but his hands slipped through. "Sam," he said in a whisper, "millions more would have died were it not for you. _Dean_ would have died were it not for you."

Sam scoffed. "He went to Hell-"

"Because he _chose_ to. Sam, Raphael and others who desired the Apocalypse wanted you to believe you were predestined for condemnation so that you'd lose hope and fall. But that was not the plan. You were-_are_ a reminder of what Lucifer can never have."

Sam quavered, "have you no idea what it's like to be marked for evil?"

"That's not what it's about-"

"Then WHAT? What's it about?"

"_Love_, Sam." the angel paused long enough for the words to sink in. "Lucifer _wanted_ to love you in ways Dean never thought of, could never conceive. With you, it wasn't about power, perfection or intellect. You were chosen to demonstrate what his arrogance cost him. You were _taken_ from Lucifer and _given_ to Dean."

Sam's lips parted but words failed him.

The angel's face reflected satisfaction. He leaned forward and laid two fingers above Sam's left brow. "Remember," he said softly.

Alistair's sniveling voice ran through Dean's head like heartburn induced by hot sauce. Fever burned his skin and his muscles and joints ached.

The demon hovered above him, leering, drooling, cooing like a lover. His knife flashed red and Dean heard his own distant scream. The slick, warm blade rested against his neck, eager to sink into his veins.

Dean woke with a start and slapped the side of his neck. He scrambled to his feet so fast, his head tilted with the rush. "Whoa." He staggered back and found footing against a cold wall. He waited for his head to settle.

Not in Hell. Not in Hell. Dirt road. Grey sky. Weird glass sculptures everywhere. Not in Hell. Good.

No Sam.

Not good at all.

Dean cursed and searched his surroundings left, right, up one way, down another. "SAAAAAM!" His words bounced off deserted streets and alien glass structures. "SAAAAMMM!" Nothing. Empty streets. Empty air. "Sonofabitch," he snarled. "SAAAAAM!" He did not notice the bleak but bizarre landscape. Dean's only thoughts were of Sam. He was mindful of the flat dirt streets, however.

"SAAAAM!"

Statues depicting great beasts or half-creature, half-human things surrounded Dean. Glass reflected glass and neither hill nor meadow, tree or blade of grass appeared anywhere.

"SAMMYYYY!"

No people or animals.

"SAAAAMM! Sonofabitch."

Monoliths stretched into walls of glass. Other monoliths stood so tall, Dean could not see the top. He encountered a building with neither windows or doors.

"SAAAAAM! SAMMMMYYY!"

Not one other person, dead, alive, young or old. No animals, not so much as a bird or a bug.

"SAAAAAM! SAAAAAMM!"

"...dean..."

He almost did not hear it. Dean's heart pounded. He passed one glass statue after another, searching for the voice. It wasn't Sammy's voice, however. "Cas!" Dean dropped to his knees beside the injured angel and stared at the jagged piece of black iridescent obsidian lodged in his friend's chest. "Cas... what do I do?"

Castiel's face squinted with agony. His trembling fingers curved with effort. He tried to move and failed. "...r-remove this thing from me... Dean. Please."

Dean hesitated, swallowed his fear and yanked out the foreign object. Castiel gasped and arched his back. A ragged dry cough erupted from his lungs as he rolled left. The angel pushed up on shaky arms and shuddered. Blood dripped off his lips a moment before he again coughed deeply. Dean took to his feet and scanned the forest of statues.

He turned back to Cas, helpless and worried. "I don't think there's any water here, Cas."

The angel slowly peeled his coat and both shirts. He sputtered, the cough sounded lighter and he wiped his face with his bloodied and ragged T-shirt. Castiel sat still a long moment, simply breathing while his vessel healed itself. Dean's eyes traced an intricate braid of etchings and marks tattooed across the angel's clavicles, over his shoulders and down his back. Dean did not recall ever seeing the marks before. He stared until he met Castiel's deep blue eyes.

"The tattoo is a rank insignia, Dean." Cas produced a fresh rolled white tee shirt from his coat pocket and slipped it on.

Dean nodded. "I've never seen a tattoo in sparkling gold before. Is it real? Where are we, anyway and what happened to you?"

Castiel stood and ran a hand over his eyebrow. "We are in trouble." Dean stared. "Not where, _when_. Technically, we're still in Georgia, but thousands of years into the past." Cass lifted his eyes to the sky and winced. "Abaddon happened to me," he continued. "And yes, I believe it is real gold."

Dean did not know what to do with that information. "Okay," he accepted. "Well, we need to find Sam. And then we need to find Camila and-"

"Camila's here?"

"Well, I'm assuming she's here. She was with us when those black unicorns attacked-"

"Black unicorns?" Castiel's expression darkened with concern.

Dean batted his eyes against the inclination to make a smart remark, "Yeah-"

"What happened to Marco?"

Dean did not want to answer that. He refused to admit what he saw. He swallowed hard and tried not to think what her absence would do to Sam.

"Dean?" Castiel insisted, "where is Marco?"

A stream of incoherent words uttered from the top of a lady's voice bounced from sculpture to statue. Dean sprang away, Castiel tagged behind. They passed a collection of carvings depicting three warriors poised to slaughter a minotaur. Another monolith met them and the men turned right. They took a left corner at a set of dolmen and found Camila.

"GET IT OFF ME!" Camila shrieked. "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" She thrashed and writhed. A tall wall of glass held her legs above the knee as though her body were part of the monolith. She cried then screamed and bucked to free herself.

Dean dropped beside her and held her down while Castiel assessed the situation. "Dean, she's partly phased into the wall."

Dean laid his hands on either side of her face to keep her quiet. "Can you fix it?"

Castiel laid a hand on her leg then scaled the wall with his eyes. "I can split the molecules but only for a moment."

"Okay. Cass, you split, I'll drag her out." Dean switched places and secured his hands under Camila's arms. She whimpered and latched onto his wrists. "Sh, sh. I got you, Camila. Just hold tight. Count of three, Cas. One. Two. Thr-" Dean dug his heels into the ground and jerked as fast and hard as he could. He landed backward, Camila curled close to his body, trembling and weeping her gratitude. Dean held her and gave her time to calm down. "Yeah, I know," he said gently. "I know. Just take a minute."

Castiel crouched beside them and took her hand. "Camila, what is the last thing you remember?"

She shuddered and struggled to think beyond the enrapturing warmth and tested strength of Dean's embrace. Was this what it was like to be in Sam's place? If so, Camila envied Dean's little brother. Her voice trembled, "Uuumm... there was that-that _thing_ that looked like a unicorn. And um, I pulled the machete out of its shoulder. And um, there was..." she took a shuddering breath, her mind tangled with residual distress.

Castiel's gaze slipped to Dean who kept his expression dead center. "I had Sam with me-wait a minute. I think someone laid a blade against the left side of my neck."

"Can you tell me for sure it was a blade?" Castiel's kept his voice steady.

"No," Dean released Camila when she squirmed. Castiel rounded to Dean's left and touched his neck. Dean dipped his head to the right and carefully kept his expression neutral.

"There is a mark here, Dean. But it's very faint." Cass withdrew and eyed Dean then Camila and back. "Describe these unicorns to me."

"They were black," Dean immediately answered.

"And they looked like the horses from the beer commercials," Camila added.

"Draft horses," Dean corrected.

"Yeah."

"Black?" Castiel repeated. "Tell me, were their alicorns twisted or flat?"

"Flat," Dean and Camila chorused.

"The Rimthineer. Messengers and carriers. They've been extinct for thousands of years. Apparently Abaddon acquired their services to bring you here."

Dean stared at Cass out the corner of his eyes. "And where is here again?"

"I don't know."

Dean's eyes traced the surrounding sculptures. Sam was bound to be giddy over the mystery surrounding them. "Alright. Here's what we're going to do: Camila, you and Cass sniff out an exit. I'm going to look for Sam. Meet us back here in half an hour."

"Dean," Cass all but interrupted his friend. He produced his sword and handed it to Dean. "I'll look for Sam. You and Camila look for the exit." He read objection in Dean's expression, "I've been poisoned, Dean. The dragon scale requires a good deal of energy to heal. I'll be alright with Sam."

"He's without medication, Cass. I don't know how he'll be." Dean could not hide concern from his eyes. He spared have a glance at Camila to double check her welfare and she seemed okay enough to help him track. Without water or food, they needed to move fast. Dean realized Castiel was right; Camila, though shaken, was in better condition to defend herself if necessary.

"Dean," Cass softly called. "I can handle Sam. I simply am in no shape to deal with combat."

Dean nodded. "Okay. But you _stay_ with him. No chasing angel chicks or hunting down a hotdog stand." Dean watched his friend nod his promise before nodding at Camila to start walking.

Castiel waited until both hunters disappeared from sight before he gently rubbed his chest. Pain creased his brows and the angel slowly sank to his knees, praying for strength, time, Dean and Sam. He forced himself back to his feet and flickered his wings to maintain balance.

Dean and Camila wove their way around statues and eerie sculptures. Dean paused to stare at one that reminded him of a dinosaur. Giant fins and a long mouth with enormous teeth marked the beast as a sea creature. But some certain quality made it look sapient. Its abnormally long body coiled in a partial spring. Huge eyes consumed its surroundings. Oblong scales textured its back. Dean cringed.

"What bothers you about it?" Camila asked. Her eyes pin-balled between glass monoliths, statues, the dirt road and grey clouds.

"I dunno. Probably nothing. Sammy's the psychic between us. It's just..." he paused and glanced back. He could have sworn the right-side fin swept higher than it hung, now. Dean ventured back to the statue. He studied it several beats then returned to Camila. "It's probably nothing. Light screwing with my head. Come on. Follow the Yellow Brick Road."

Camila tailed Dean across the statuary landscape. The further they traveled from Castiel, the stranger and more unsettling the sculptures became. From beasts and half-and-half creatures to unrecognizable forms. Some glass carvings looked as though they should not be able to stand. One collection of freakish pieces forced Dean to look away. Their expressions of horror and insanity came too close to things he saw in places he wish he never visited. Forcing his eyes ahead, Dean momentarily closed his mind to his surroundings and thought of his little brother. If anyone could find Sam, it'd be their angel friend.

Camila gasped and Dean lifted his eyes. Large glowing red runes floated in mid air. Beyond them lay a green countryside with gentle hills and huge trees thick with broad leaves.

Dean shrugged and pressed forward. He slammed into an invisible shield and flinched, confused and annoyed. "What the living hell?" he palmed the air and met unseen resistance. Camila found the same barrier and trailed several yards away, confirming a wall stood between them and freedom. She shrugged and Dean's green eyes turned intense. "Son of a bitch," he swore. "We've been adopted into someone's glass garden. And they haven't even fed or watered us."

Camila served him an annoyed expression. "You are not as funny as you think you are."

"That's not true. It's just that I save all the best stuff for Sammy."

Camila's scowl stretched into a smile. "You know, Dean, Sam is really lucky to have someone like you. If you were any less mature, however, I'd not let him hang with you." her joke died in the space of silence that followed. Camila watched Dean as he studied the runes. He stepped back for a broader view. His eyes bounced from one strange symbol to another like someone doing a word search. "What is it?" she asked after a moment or more. "What do you see?"

Dean did not answer her right away. "Some of these look familiar." his eyes squinted with concentration and recall.

"Let me guess: the marks there are a spell."

"Mm... maybe part of a spell," he replied. "Where the hell did I see..." Dean bypassed her and trailed along the invisible wall. He analyzed the runes and compared one to another. He paused at one and shook his head. "That's friggin' Latin. Psyche. Psyche..."

Camila knew just enough to get by. She stepped next to him and traced the runes with her eyes. "Maybe you can translate that for me, Professor Winchester. I didn't do so well in my arcane language class."

Dean smiled, "yeah, I know I sound brilliant. But you spend any amount of time with Bobby and Sam, you're bound to learn a few things." he pointed to the glowing red script, "_puer_... _psykhikos_... I don't know if Sam ever told you, but the stuff he's been looking into-"

"...uses more than one language," she finished. "Yes, I recall that. So what's _puer?_"

Dean did not answer right away. His memory combed through months and years of varying research. Then he found it, tucked away in his mental archives regarding a case he worked on before he went to Stanford for Sam. Dean never did finish that particular case. But what he learned of it made him glad for the interruption when his father turned up MIA. "Child psychics." He answered quietly. As they stared, the runes above them shifted and melted like soft wax. New runes formed and Camila's jaw dropped.

Suspicion played through his head and Dean ripped his gaze from the runes to the glass figures around them. He approached the statue closest to them and laid a palm against it. "_Mi omni visio_."

Silhouettes of faces and figures appeared. Thousands of them; hundreds of thousands. Camila gasped and swallowed a scream. Her hands clasped her mouth, her eyes lit with astonishment. The shadowy shapes pressed against the glass contours, clawing. Unheard pleas and screams uttered from throats silenced by the barrier. None of them seemed aware of Dean and Camila.

Dean stared transfixed at the sight. He felt nothing, unlike Camila who turned away. Dean's thoughts slipped to a place Alistair once took him to. Dean could not recall the name of the place but he remembered watching a multitude of souls forced to stand in a great arena while a machine crushed them into the ground like a giant steam roller. 'Gruesome' didn't begin to describe it. _There aren't words... Sam..._

Camila's soft voice broke the spell, "how did you know, Dean? How did you know what to look for, what to say? Are you sure you're not some magician pulling answers straight out of the air?

The image of a magician producing a dove from a napkin replaced the dark memory and Dean blinked. "I know where I saw those runes. We'd better find Cass and Sammy."

Camila pulled herself from the eerie sight and trotted to catch up to Dean Winchester's long strides. "I really had no idea you knew that stuff. You don't seem the type on the outside." He grinned, but it wasn't a happy grin. "Dean, back at the forest, when the Centaur spoke to you and you answered it... what did you say? What-"

Dean stopped in his tracks and stared at her with hard green eyes. "Camila, there are some things you don't want to know about me. Trust me on that."

He walked off. She called after, "what happened to you, Dean? Did it happen to Sam, too? Were the two of you tortured?"

"You're poking your nose where it doesn't belong," he shouted back. He kept walking.

Again Camila tapped after him, light on her feet, her footfalls almost as noiseless as his. "I know about the deal you made." she almost ran into him when Dean halted his gait and glared at her. The huntress did her best to show no fear of his intimidation factor.

Dean eyed her hard, his green eyes steeled against her intrusion. He took on half a beat. "Know what I think? I think we're being held here because whomever has us is waiting for something; an eclipse or a conjunction."

Her lips lined with slight frustration. "Alright. Keep your secret. At least tell me what you said to horsey-boy back in the woods. I mean, the Centaur that spoke to you. What language was that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "He said he was going to lop off my head, called me a traitorous filth. I told him I learned under Alistair and I was going to hunt him down in Hell and yank his heart out through his ass."

Speechless, Camila nodded and followed Dean through the maze in search of Sam and Castiel.

"Saam!" Castiel searched row by row. In spite of glass sculptures and dirt roads, Castiel's calls did not echo as he strolled past dolmens, monoliths and towering figures. Castiel paused before one broad, solid monolith and puzzled over the lack of reflection upon the frosted glass surface. Even if the glass had a matte finish, there should still be a dark silhouette representing his form. Cass touched the blank surface. The subtle vibration of millions of voices hit his fingers. The angel drilled his eyes into it, willing his angelic senses to penetrate the glass. But all that touched Cass' mind were runes in languages older than those of present-day Earth. He did not know why.

Refusing to delve into that mystery, Castiel continued his search for Dean's brother. How was it that Dean, Camila and he ended up in one area and Sam landed so far away? Castiel supposed that if they landed in an ocean, Sam would be the one swallowed by a whale.

That's not funny, he told himself. It's not Sam's fault that the universe has turned against him. "I know there's a reason for it all, Father," Castiel said softly. "Please let me find Sam in one piece." Just as he said it, the angel encountered a wide circular clearing. Neither statue nor monolith sat upon the area's smooth sandy surface. Castiel tilted his head right, befuddled by the oddity. As if the circle of emptiness were the center of gravity, like a black hole tugging a galaxy together in a spiral. Cass took that moment to stand in the clearing's center. He measured the setting of statues, dolmens and monoliths as their numbers progressed from the clearing. Cass' theory was correct: the pattern swung away from the clearing in a spiral consisting of arms arcing in the eight major compass directions.

Had Castiel been human his heart would pound with anxiety. He stood where the Gate should be.

"Saam!" he tore from the scene and forced his feet left. Using his wings to keep himself balanced, Castiel partly ran and partly flew. Flicking his eyes scantly across the landscape, Cass peeked between statues and down long isles of dirt. "Saam!"

Where? Where?

Castiel abruptly paused when he heard something scraping hard earth. Two monoliths down and a right turn later, Cass found Sam on hands and knees, vigorously digging the ground with a knife. He stabbed the dirt in rough, desperate repetition.

"Sam." Cass took two steps forward then halted when Sam's eyes, wild with agitation, caught him. Sam dropped the knife and clawed the dirt with his bare hands. He dug, scraped and wept. Sam paused, gasping for air. His breath quickened before he burrowed and gouged. Rocks and dirt flew in all directions before Sam swept up the knife and stabbed the cavity. He thrust the dirty blade down, stabbing the ground as though wounding the world. He paused to sob and breathe then resumed his intense labor. "Sam," Castiel called softly. "It's me."

Sam threw himself against the nearby wall and slapped a bloodied hand against its steadfast surface. "I'm not finished! I'd dig one for you, too, but there's not enough time!"

Castiel lowered to his knees and kept his expression soft. "Why do you have to dig, Sam? What's wrong?"

"The gnashers. It's too quiet here." Sam crawled back to his project and resumed hacking the dirt with his knife. "The gnashers have eaten all the lutheeg and they always give off the alarm. But it's quiet here and I know they're coming! He struck with all his might until his hands, bloodied with injury, slipped off his knife. He fell forward on his elbows, an emotional and psychological mess. At first all Sam did was breathe. He pulled his blood-soaked hands from under his chest and stared far away. He laid his head down and wept.

Castiel crawled to him but did not touch Sam. "You are not where you think you are, Sam."

"I am not who I thought I was," he countered.

"You are still-and always have been Sam Winchester. You are Dean's brother."

Sammy's weak voice echoed the wounds and scars in his soul. "I should never have been. They made me into his wardrobe. I'm not even a person."

"Your brother would not agree."

"My brother's... confused. He believed I was human. You've not met my brother. Everybody loves Dean-"

"Sam-"

"I don't know why he wasted his life on me. Lucifer was right; I was a living lie."

Castiel moved closer. "That's the madness talking, Sam." The angel creased his brow with concern when Sam brokenly laughed.

"We're all mad down here. How many demons does it take to replace a lightbulb?"

Cass tilted his head left. "What have demons got to do with lightbulbs?"

Oblivious, Sam stared at the bleak environment through tear-blurred eyes. "Took me a long time to find an answer. The answer is none; demons don't get it."

"I don't see how that's funny," Castiel's voice fell flat. Sam said nothing more. The angel waited and hoped Dean found them before too long. He sat on his knees, watching Sam lay as though asleep.

Ten wordless moments passed before Sam abruptly stood and walked off, leaving the knife and Castiel as though neither existed.

"Sam, where are you going?" Cass called. He caught up with the young man and tried to meet his gaze. He did not flinch when Sam's black, black eyes stared through him into nothing. "Sam, it's Castiel. Don't you recognize..." Sam sank to his knees and the angel lowered with him, hands gently around the young man's upper arms.

Sam lamented like an abandoned and injured puppy. His head dropped, long hair veiled his face. "My father planned to kill me. Then he died and left it to Dean." He drew a ragged breath. "That wasn't fair to Dean. He should never have had to deal..."

Castiel slipped off his coat and laid it around Sam. "He was terrified, Sam. Your father didn't have enough answers-"

"He missed. When he aimed... he missed." Sam paused as tears marked his cheeks. "_I_ missed. _I_ missed."

Castiel fussed over the collar then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What do you mean you missed, Sam?"

Sammy's voice and thoughts tumbled into a dark silence. Another tear rolled through the dust on his cheek. Cass tried to read past the maze of anguish and trauma in Sam's mind. "Did... did you try to shoot yourself, Sam?" One nod, filled with remorse and guilt. Castiel wiped another tear from Sam's cheek and took to his feet. He wordlessly hauled Sammy up and guided him against the closest monolith. Sam slumped against it like a dejected lifeless doll. He covered his face, slid to the ground and curled into himself.

Cass settled beside him, facing Dean's disconsolate brother. He carefully picked his words, "Dean... your brother, Dean sent me to stay with you, Sam. He wanted me to keep an eye on you."

Sam lifted anguish-ridden eyes. "Dean? Why would he do that?"

"He is worried about you."

Sam shook his head. "It's a mistake. Someone made a mistake. Monsters 'nd... abominations... don't have brothers. Dean's brother died when he was six months old." Sam thunked the side of his head against the wall as he lost control of his tears. _Thunk._

"You're not a monster, Sam."

_Thunk._

"You certainly are not an abomination. What was said to you was inappropriate."

_Thunk._

"You and Dean are unique. Special."

_Thunk._

"And unfortunately, you were set up, taken advantage of and abused."

_Thunk._

"Michael and Lucifer had no right to do to you what they did. You're not puppets. You and Dean are individuals with a soul and a spirit-"

_Thunk. Thunk. Th-_

Castiel grabbed Sam's upper arms to keep him from repeating the action.

_Contact_. Sam trembled, lost in Cass' deep blue eyes. He could not breathe, could not move. Wasn't someone supposed to kill him? Wasn't someone going to spread his molecules across the cosmos? He didn't know. Sam didn't know what to do with himself. He dropped his gaze to aching and bloodied fingers and thought something was missing. But his demoralized and unhinged mind moved in too many directions for Sam to recall what he lacked.

Castiel gently but firmly guided Sam to lie down, his head on the angel's lap, a warm hand on the young man's shoulder. Cass tucked his coat closer about Sam's chin. Sam lay in place, staring into nothing. He shivered as silent tears rained across his eyes.

Cass lightly brushed his thumb over Sam's left cheek and deeply sighed. "Have I ever told you about Christmas in Heaven, Sam?" He waited for an answer but only the eerie quiet replied. "I'm guessing I never took the time." Castiel lifted his eyes, "I will tell you about Christmas in Heaven."

Dean and Camila threaded their way between and around several dolmen before they discovered a group of dragon sculptures. Dean paused and stared at the dinosaur-sized glass objects. His brow creased as he examined one dragon, then another and the two next to that. He glanced several yards from there and found six more. Camila touched one dragon's scales intricately and carefully etched. She watched Dean as he examined the same dragon's clawed feet then another dragon after that.

"Dean? What is it?"

"Cass said something about Abaddon stealing the grace from dragons." His eyes held her a moment longer while he put six and two together. Saying nothing more on it, Dean nodded left. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

Camila respectfully maintained a quiet stride. Every now and again she had to speed the pace to keep up with her companion. Dean scanned ahead and to their right. He stared for several breaths until Camila thinned her lips. "You can sense him, can't you?"

He distractedly blinked and met her expectant expression. "What's that?"

"Sam. You could be anywhere in the galaxy and still find your brother blindfolded and deaf."

Dean shook his head. "Nah. I don't think that's true." he brushed past her, Camila tagged.

"No?"

"No."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because my brother's been back for two years and I didn't so much as _dream_ of the bleak possibility that he'd be back."

"I don't think that's true."

"Yeah, whatever, Sylvia Brown."

"Dean," she firmly returned, "when two people are mentally and emotionally connected-"

Dean pulled the 'dime-stop' stunt again so that Camila nearly ran into him. He turned with hard eyes. "Okay. Look, I'll give you the ugly truth: me and Sam, we've both been to Hell-literally, for real-torture, fire, demons, hellhounds, the whole lot. And by some freaky miracle, we've both come out. Sam, however, went to a different place in Hell and... and I really don't want to talk about it because you sorta have to _be_ there to get it. Hey, lookit this."

Camila shook her head and just went with it. She followed Dean round the corner of a long, low-standing dolmen. Camila did not miss the strange runes carved deep into the table's edge, nor did she miss the fact that some of those same runes bled liquid silver. She caught up with Dean and coughed out a gasp. "What by God..."

They stared fifteen feet into the faceless visage of a robotic beast. Great clawed toes gripped the dry ground. Hydraulic cables formed negative spaces about the monster's legs and connected into weapon devices the likes of which Camila had never seen. A sphere of three faces hung suspended between the robot's hips and chest plate. The robot displayed four arms, two of which sported cannons rather than hands. The other set of hands bent palms-up; needles and blades replaced fingers. On either shoulder sat a harpoon device.

Camila's horrified, but morbid fascination broke when Dean hocked a loogie and spit on the statue. Camila swallowed hard. She could not decide between disgust and disquiet. "What the hell is that... _thing_?"

Dean forced a smile. "Robots and automatons aren't limited to Earth, Camila. This is an enforcer. I can't give you its actual name. I won't speak it here."

Her cheeks lifted, amused. "Black Speech, Dean?"

Dean nodded solemnly. "Here, there be dragons, Camila. What, you think writers just make this shit up? The universe isn't limited to the capacity of the Human mind. And Humans aren't the only things that populate reality." Dean scoffed, disgusted. "I wish I didn't know that," he wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her how he longed to not know of horrors unspeakable even by demonic lips. Dean drew a deep breath to suppress unfathomable grief for his brother.

Camila winced, her heart quailed. "Dean... if this _thing_ came from-from Hell, don't you think it a little strange that-"

"Nope!" he called back, long legs carried him from the sculpted abomination, "I call it _really_ strange, even for me and Sam."

Camila lingered and hugged herself until she managed to shrug off the jitters. Forcing effort into her legs, she abandoned the building and scampered to catch up with Dean.

They found the area where Dean initially located Castiel. Camila marveled at the discarded dragon scale while Dean searched for clues to Castiel's whereabouts.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Is-is Castiel injured?"

"He was." Dean skipped a beat, "you comin'?"

Camila dropped the scale and shadowed him round a corner and past a pool of drying blood. "How badly is he hurt?"

"He can't 747 this place any more than we can. CASS!"

Camila did not want to hear that. "Well, angel or not, we are getting out of here, even if we have to dig with our own hands. Something brought us in. I'm sure we can get out."

"CASTIEL!" Dean paused at a cross section and flew his gaze left then right. "You're preaching to the choir, Sweetheart. I'm starving and we need water and Sammy needs his meds-CASTIEL!"

"Well, let's split up and-"

"No way." Dean sternly objected. "Ancient Winchester Secret Rule Number Four: never split up in unfamiliar territory. Especially if you're surrounded by creepy things that aren't where they should be. CASS!" Dean did not notice Camila's glare. They tracked amid more statues before both froze in awe.

"Oh my God," Camila whispered. She and Dean stared at the same circular area Castiel found. But rather than an empty sandy surface, the two hunters watched as a circle of monoliths slowly rose from the ground like blocks of stone trees.

Dean stared as his heart raced. The monolithic configuration matched the one he and Bobby found in Wisconsin; the very same, too, as Dean saw in Hell many years ago. He batted his eyes against the memory. His brows slightly furrowed. Runes etched themselves into the stones, bloody and gruesome. He stepped back, disconcerted. With a wordless tug at Camila's sleeve, he forced them forward with Castiel's name on his lips.

"Light in Heaven is not from any single source such it is here. In fact, very little of Heaven is anything like it is here. There are places, Sam, which I can't describe to you because there is no Human vocabulary for it."

Sam inhaled a shaky breath. Emotional turmoil churned inside him. Castiel's gentle voice soothed him enough to keep him down. Images of flame and blood, of pained shrieks and people pulling themselves apart slammed into his mind and vanished as quickly. Without Castiel's one-sided conversation, his hand on Sam's shoulder, the punishing flashbacks assaulted Sam unbounded. Inexplicable aches affected his joints. Sam recalled the little trip into heaven he and Dean once made; the one where Zachariah chased them down.

_Not Heaven_, Castiel gently countered. The sound alone quelled Little Brother's surfacing doubt. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, Sam. But I think it will help. I've seen the place reserved for you and Dean."

The young man smiled lightly. "How... d' you know Dean wants to share a place-"

"I don't think Dean would be happy any other way." Castiel met his eyes. "They asked me what size a library you'd like to have."

Chills traveled down Sam's back. "A library?" he echoed sleepily, "There's books in Heaven?"

"Of course. You think Angels are illiterate?" Cass paused as his charge lightly smiled and snuggled back into place. The angel stretched his wings and longed for light. The world around them resided in an undefined darkness. Here, evil hung in the air like a light mist; tangible without smothering.

Castiel resumed his discourse. "Everywhere you go in Heaven, there's music. Some of it is similar to what you hear. Some of it, some music in Heaven, is like the sweetest water you've tasted. It's sometimes subtle, hints of tones in the air, a constant presence. Sometimes the music is radiant and it's under your skin and in your veins and it thrums in your bones and you breath it in like another life force. During the Christmas celebration, it becomes even more intense. It truly is awesome. And only certain angels are relegated to the specifics of creating music."

"There's also parades during Christmas time. They're not...not like those here, Sam. We don't use balloons. The armies of Heaven pass in review. It's always impressive. The timing is perfect and you do not realize that you've been watching for hours until the marching bands appear."

"Watching troops pass in review doesn't sound like much fun," Sam's voice barely reached a whisper.

Castiel's eyes roved left to right. He heard footsteps not far and automatically knew Dean and Camila approached. "I've seen the military parades here on Earth, Sam and I agree. But passing in review in Heaven, again, is not like it is on Earth. Military angels love what they do, whether it's fighting or marching. Personally, I think they parade to show off their timing skills." Cass paused half a beat, "This way, Dean."

In a breath, Dean knelt before his brother and lightly checked him for fever and injuries. He found blood on Sammy's hands. If Sam injured himself, Castiel obviously took care of it. Dean shot inquisitive eyes at the angel.

"He injured himself digging a hole," Cass confirmed. "He simply needs to wash it off."

With one nod, Dean peered into Sam's black eyes, "awe, Sammy, don't you look positively adorable curled up next to Cass?" Sam simply smiled because saying anything instigated tears. Dean tugged on half a smile himself. "How you doin', Little Bro?"

Cass lifted his concentration from Sam to Dean. "What have you found?"

"Not what I was looking for." Dean grunted. He glanced at Camila who kept watch. She sent a nervous glance skyward. Dean patted his jacket hoping to find something to write with. He found a gas station receipt and a broken pen. Discarding the pen's shell, Dean used the ink cartridge and sketched out several runes. "We ran into this invisible wall. It's really pretty on the other side. Green grass, real trees... anyway, Camila and I saw this stuff at the outside. And it's all just floating in the air."

Castiel stared at the images, "interesting."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "If you're into being someone's pet."

"This is Sumarian with an Enochian evocative _kumesun. _It says 'by the bloodied dawn, the city will rise."

"Huh." Dean stared at the scribbles himself then added to the collection. "What about these, Cass?"

"Psychikos. That's strange."

"Not as strange as some of the stuff Camila and I saw." He sketched out one more rune.

"What did you see, Dean?" the angel remained unruffled by Dean's sudden and piercing gaze.

The world drifted from Sam's languid conscious mind. Although aware of Dean's and Castiel's presence, Sam forgot where they were, the time of day and whether they resided in some run down motel or at Bobby's. His body melted into the ground. All its weight and pain sank as though he slept, caught somewhere between consciousness and dreams.

Lucifer's face smoked into existence. His hollowed eyes held no reflection and burdened Sam's heart with despondency. "You will always be here, _my sweet love_. You may not be here now. But you will find your way back to us." Familiar screams of anguish and horror played through Sam's mind. People boiled alive. Souls lost to insanity shrieked and wept in endless despair. The sick splatter of the maimed slapped the air not unlike fish, wallowing in the mud of a drying pond.

_Why_ was this Sam's destiny? _Why_ was he singled out for it-against his choosing?

Isolated in the darkest corner of his mind, Sam sank to his knees. Outside himself, he blinked and struggled to stay in the present, in the reality where his big brother existed and loved and cared for him. Sam memorized Dean's eyes, every minute expression that projected from the green depths. Sam expected his mind to slip back to Hell any second. He wanted to hold this glimpse, this mental photograph, and commit it to memory before Lucifer dragged him back to the playground.

Sam's eyes dropped shut. His consciousness slid to a dark, tight corner. Memories bubbled under the surface, clawing at the walls. They banged at the floor and the ceiling.

"Stay away," he whispered. "I'm not _There_, anymore. Stay away." Heads pushed up, hands sprawled against the floor. But they could not break through. Sam waited until the flashbacks quieted. He reminded himself of Castiel's presence and while he could not hear Dean, Sam knew his brother was still there with him. Quiet. Quiet. Cass said there was a place waiting for him and Dean in Heaven and he never had to fear the devil's wrath again.

Taking that comfort, Sam side-stepped along the wall. He did not know where the wall led or if it ended. But any place was better than the corner. Sam traveled the length of a full city block before he found an entrance. He cautiously peered round the corner and found a room dimly illuminated by the imaginings of his splintered mind. When Sam took three steps, a shaft of light spilled from nowhere and lit a flooring covered in grey tiles. Splattered sigils and runes in bright silver tattooed the room like angelic graffiti.

Amid the wards and symbols, a ten-foot septagon stood on its edge, towering over Sam. The preternatural mechanism constructed of opal and titanium softly vibrated. Several small ruby and sapphire crystals dangled at the outer edges, hovering in mid air. At the mechanism's center floated a shiny metal sphere. It spun in lazy motion, clockwise at first then it paused and changed directions.

"Is this the Gate?" Sam asked quietly. Dead silence swallowed his voice. His eyes searched every joint and length along the alien mechanism. Enochian runes etched darkly into the metal surface. And under the Septagon bled a large etching of Interlaced Triangles. One triangle pointed upward, the other down. Sam stepped back for a clearer view. He knew and understood the significance regarding the Interlaced Triangles but this symbol was different. In addition to the interwoven triangles a set of lines ran vertical over the top; one silver, one gold. Sam crouched and touched the lines._ Silver and gold? Strength and Endurance? Purity and Value, maybe? Intrinsic and Everlasting? Thunder and Lightning? What does it mean?_

A little girl's voice shattered the silence, _"Imadradas. Kai Ishako_._ You and Dean._"

Sam almost swallowed air and leapt to his feet. The little girl locked her gaze upon him with wild black eyes. Platinum blonde hair draped over a perfect heart-shaped face.

"Lilith," Sam's voice died in a breath. He winced when the little girl's form shuddered and blinked in an echo of surrealistic vision. The adult form of the she- demon emerged.

"_Sammyyyy!" _a little girl's freaky voice sounded from an adult's mouth.

"You're dead. Last I heard, you were busted back to the rack. Bottom of the totem pole. That's what happens to demons who are exorc-wait. Are we in Hell? I thought I was in my head, but..."

The right corner of her mouth tightened. "Why do you keep confusing reality with perception, Sam? Just because you don't know where you are does not invalidate your experience. You can be nowhere and still be _somewhere_."

Sam drilled his eyes into her, annoyed at her Wonderland logic.

Lilith's creepy, little girl giggle bounced around the room and Sam flinched hard. Memories assaulted him with postcard moments and half-spoken phrases. Emotions bounced from fear to guilt and back-he lost. He lost Dean. He lost his sense of self. He lost his family, stability and his sensibilities.

_Ruby._

Images of white brick walls rammed into him. A brooding sky wept warm rain. Sam hiked along dirt roads that led nowhere. He called Ruby with no results. The white bricks dribbled warm blood. Twenty people died in unspeakable ways. Sam never told Dean or Ruby of the labyrinth Lilith dumped him in.

"_Sammy, come play with me."_

That was... 2008-maybe?

Sam struggled to stop the memory. But his brain worked against him. The overwhelming grief he suffered during Dean's time in Hell sucked out all Sam's self-worth, vitality and hope. Those scars, though deep and locked in a closet, festered with the infection of his madness.

Sam raced to find a way to get his brother out of Hell. He hardly slept or ate. He returned Bobby's call once, maybe twice. Ruby was gone-had been gone-for several days and as Sam wandered aimlessly among ancient white brick walls, the demon bitch taunted him.

"_Come on, Sammy... play..."_

Sam batted his eyes against the memory. He realized Lilith's voice brought him out of brainlock. The sphere inside the septagon switched directions.

Lilith approached. Her perfect hips swayed. Her voice now matched her adult body: "Ahh, sweet Sammy. Fresh from Hell. I know what you're thinking: recovery's a bitch and so am I." She waited for some snide remark but Sam held his tongue. Lilith batted her eyes. "I didn't come here to hurt you, Sam."

"Right," Sam sneered. "Just here to slice my head open and suck my brains out."

Lilith huffed but could not keep the smile off her face. "Not really, no."

"I'm sick and tired of you and your groupies hounding after me like oversexed rockstar fans. How about you people go pick on someone else your own caliber?" Sam grit his teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you no?"

Lilith dropped her head to the right. Her eyes inked and reflected the ambient light. "I am so sorry, Sam. This should not have happened to someone like you. It would have been better all around if you were an unlikeable, pigheaded bastard. As it is, you weren't just chosen, Sam. You were _designed_ for us."

Sam laughed in maddened despair. "Designed from the time I was six months. How come I didn't get a say in it? There's a flaw in the design. You should have included the _desire_ for me to lead you freaks. I mean, what do I get out of it?"

Lilith wasn't smiling. "Your own personal Hell," her voice even dropped with sympathy. "You're right. Maybe they should have chosen Dean, instead. But then it would have ruined their precious analogy."

"Don't SAY THAT! DAMN YOU! Leave Dean out of this! I don't give a damn about them-you-_what_ analogy?" Sam's heart and stomach dropped at the thought of Dean taking on Hell. Sam tucked his horror away; grief and fear took its place. "Am I really a carbon copy of Lucifer? Was I _born_ evil?" He dared Lilith to say yes. "Have I lost my mind because of the internal darkness, the eternal death I'm supposedly destined for?" Sam struggled against tears and shivered at the thought.

All mockery and silliness died in Lilith's eyes. She shook her head. "No. You're nothing like him. Your genetics may have the capacity to contain him, but you can never be like him, Sam. So, it's not that perfect an analogy, is it?" She expected an answer but Sam turned from her, a mortally wounded soul destined for eternal slavery and torment.

The atmosphere chilled; the bleakness seeped into her as Sam's depressive state spread. Lilith tried to invent something to alleviate his suffering. "Lucifer is the best con artist, Sam," she lifted her voice slightly, "He fooled everyone into thinking he had the power, ability and enough integrity to take over Heaven and rule Earth. But Michael saw right through the facade. He did everything to expose Lucifer's lies. But people believe what they want. Several powerful angels sided with Lucifer and started the war. Michael never forgave his brother. Lucifer's arrogance ruined so much that nothing has been the same."

Sam's gaze drifted, confused and uncertain. He wondered how Dean put up with his own fuckwittery all these years. And just how close had Sam come to losing his life at the hands of his brother? The fact that he could not remember more of his past than scant moments or half events added to his confusion and uncertainty. The bottom line said it didn't matter. He ended where he was destined all along. Sam still missed part of that equation: Sam+(sin)=Hell.

"I understand your self-recrimination, Sam," Lilith kept her voice soft like the dim lighting of their little world. "But you're only partially at fault. It's so much easier to control a wounded and starving animal. Ruby played you like a well-tuned instrument."

Again Sam nodded, conceding his weakness. Ultimately it did not matter. Sam admitted Ruby offered him the opportunity to handle a hopeless situation by any means. Sam didn't care what that meant; he was in it for the results. Just like his father. He almost learned too late that a right thing done in a wrong way was wrong. Conversely, a wrong thing done in a right way was also wrong. And for that weakness Sam earned his way into Hell; right where he should be.

"_Sam. Sam, come back. Saam? Saam."_

He followed Lilith's voice to the present. He gripped his hair and hid his face. Tears neared the edges of his control; Sam turned to laughter instead. "I get it! You are a figment of my head! You-you jumped out of my shirt pocket, just add water and _bingo_, instant Lilith. I'm guessing the Ghost of Christmas Future is about to appear."

"I'm not a figment in your head, Sam. You're not completely insane." Lilith answered.

"Yeah, I get a lot of that: '..._can't help that.'" _Sam recited the line from Alice in Wonderland_, "Most everyone's mad here. You may have noticed that I'm not all there myself._" Sam rounded the artifact and she countered his position.

"Sam, for what it's worth, your heart was in the right place, even though you were deceived, even if it meant breaking someone's rules and drinking demon blood. What happened was just as much a fault of the angels. They played on your vulnerability. For me, I had no honor, no integrity. My loyalty was to myself. Your one crime was vengeance." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Not that much different from Michael. And he's supposed to be pure. It simply _had_ to be you, Sam because you broke the analogy-"

_A right thing done in a wrong way..._ Sam reminded himself of bad decisions. But he chose not to point that out. "_Dean_ broke the analogy," he argued. He choked on tears, regret and remorse. "Dean died for me. Michael never died for Lucifer. Dean should have killed me. If he had killed me, he would have fulfilled the analogy. But by the same token, Dean allowed a monster to live."

Lilith compassionately stared. "You don't belong in Hell, Sam. You need to be with your brother. That's why you were sent back."

Lilith's pause gained Sam's full attention. Her eyes fell to the right, her expression turned wistful. "You did something almost no one else could have-or _would_ have done, Sam. And it made me realize how arrogant... how utterly despicable and wasteful my life... because of my disobedience, I believed there was nothing to keep me off the rack. So I chose to live it up. Through the centuries I accumulated a body count like that of the Black Plague. After all, if I had to end up in eternal torment, I was going to have company. But you... you _asked_ for redemption and still ended in the Cage by _choice_. I mocked God for that. I thought He abandoned you by allowing you to drop dead."

Lilith watched his eyes. She had Sam's full attention and hoped he caught the point.

"But then it dawned on me," she continued, "_I_ was the one mocked. You died to stop the apocalypse. You gave up your life and place in Heaven to clean up the mess the _angels_ made! The apocalypse didn't start with you and Dean. It started millions of years before the Earth was remade for Humans."

"I watched Michael and Lucifer fight each other in Hell. I saw them fight over you and tear you and Adam to pieces. You never complained about the unfairness of it, Sam. You never even cursed God. And everyone else there does. And... I realized you had a personal sense of responsibility; something I never did. And I recalled your life on Earth, how you accepted redemption, believing you could have it, in spite of what you believed you were. It was there, available and you took it."

Sam's expression dropped. Uncertainty and doubt etched into his eyes.

Lilith paused a moment to make sure she had not lost his attention. Sam stood frozen. He blinked in thought. She pressed on and kept her voice gentle but firm. "I rejected redemption because _they_ told me I wasn't good enough. It was wrong for me to express my individuality. My Adam wanted a wife that ..." Lilith cut herself off, nodded and smiled.

Lifting her eyes, she met Sam's unassuming gaze. "I'm not guiltless. I'm not a victim. I simply didn't want to do it _his_ way. They judged me evil and I was no longer good enough. I believed in my own unworthiness rather than believing I could have salvation. All I had to do was ask for it. But my arrogance simply would not have it." She laughed, soft and pure. "I get it." Lilith raised her eyes in sudden realization.

Sam shook his head. "I don't. I don't know why you're telling me all this or why you're in my head-or subconscious-"

"Because we're alike, Sam. In many ways, you and I took similar routes. The difference is that you were allowed to go to Hell so that I could understand." Lilith averted her eyes. "You were given redemption and because of that, you've spit in Lucifer's eye. You sacrificed yourself, still _believing_." Lilith's face lit up with a smile. "And that being the case, Sam, I realized I could have it too. All I had to do was _ask_."

Sam smiled, tentative and bewildered. Was it possible for a thousands year-old demon to have redemption? If that was the case, if that was true, it's a slap in Lucifer's face. Swallowing a rock in his throat, Sam found his voice, "you pulled me out?"

She shook her head, "no, I was the distraction. Bait. Hound chow. Don't be sorry. It was worth it."

"What about the other people who also came from nowhere? I wasn't the only one-"

"Abaddon's agents. In order to open the Abyss, they had to find and connect all the gates.

Sam's gaze returned to the septagon while his mind raced amid distorted memories and confused, disquieted emotions. He had the focus of a blow fly. Sam forced his sight on the septagon. He traced the runes and lines while voices clamored in his head. One rune finally turned into a word when the familiar shape called his memory from a dark road. He blinked hard to concentrate while Lilith stood by, silent and unmoving.

_Pateras_.

"P... P... P..." Sam's lips moved but no sound escaped. He remembered the medallions. Runes on the St. Louis Arch. Runes found in New Mexico.

Filius.

Frater.

_Father. Son. Brother._

Calmer than a moment ago, Sam raised his eyes to Lilith. "This is the lock, isn't it? This is what controls the Water Gates." Lilith did not argue. Sam continued, "And the triangle sigil on the floor: it represents me and Dean?"

The blonde raised her brows in approval. "Two points and a Three Musketeers bar, Sammy." Her voice carried no mockery.

A mechanical whirr and clank echoed outside the room. The floor trembled under them.

Lilith kissed Sam on the cheek. "It's time. I have to go. I will see you again, Sam. Take care. Take care of Dean and Castiel."

Whatever took place outside Sam's mind came to him in visual flashes. The clouds swirled as though by time-lapse motion.

Camila screamed.

Dean called for Sam.

Sam's eyes opened and shut and opened again as he struggled against his confused perception. The floating runes outside the statuary yard flowered out, lay on the surrounding grassland and seared the earth. The smell of burning blood and incense clouded the air. The statues started moving. With each stolen breath, the strange and abstract sculptures gained color like a black and white drawing morphing into a three-dimensional piece of work.

Dean called for Castiel.

The sun rose, bright and bloody.

The circle of monoliths, now fully above ground, expanded.

Dean's hand invaded Sam's pockets. Sam struggled against his foggy mind. Distantly he heard Dean say something. _Say it again? No, still did not hear. Say it again. No, Dean, don't give up! Say-_

"Sam! Do you have that piece of cloth with the floating runes on it?"

Sorrow overwhelmed Sam like a freak tidal wave. It was of Adam. He remembered the young man. Sam remembered trying to fold Adam into their small family. He wanted... he wanted... he watched as they tore him asunder, a horribly disfigured creature. Sam was so sorry. He could not save Adam. He could not protect him. Adam refused to forgive Sam. He allowed Michael to burrow inside and use him. Adam became something Sam could no longer look at. Tall... tall as a skyscraper, terribly elongated and dark. Not even remotely human.

Sam's hands clawed the air as though he could touch the vivid memory. Instead, his fingers contacted a face. Dean's voice brought him back.

"...took Castiel! Sam! You have to help me out here! They're going to kill him! SAM!"

_Imadradas. Kia Ishako._

Sam's eyes snapped open and contacted his brother's. "We are the storm," he slurred.

Dean raced while the windstorm raged around him and Sam. The clouds formed a wide ring above them and peering carefully into them, dragons became visible. Something zapped Castiel away. The enforcer came to life and took Camila. Dean had no idea how the mystical cloth came to mind. Anything was worth a shot at the moment. He tried to ask his brother but Sam's mind fragmented into disorientation, falling to places Dean did not want to think about.

He found the cloth tucked into Sam's inner jacket pocket and paused when Sam reached up and touched his face. Big Brother paused and thought he'd fall into Sam's black eyes. He envisioned a world wrecked by things that hadn't existed since the Ice Age. He saw the moon, a chunk of dirt in space, no longer spherical, no longer controlling the ebb and flow of Earth's patterns. Dean blinked and shook himself free of the vision and laid out the cloth. Two dragons stalked toward he and Sam. One yard, two...

Dean took his brother's hand and Sam clasped both hands around Dean's grip as though for life. "Just hold on, Sammy!"

The dragons spread their wings.

"_Traversio en psyche. En limbo depthe betwynum espherium. Taus pres duo en mi."_

Reality fell to pieces before Dean's eyes. The dragons roared as their forms splintered. The sky vanished. The ground disappeared. The wind ceased to exist.

Darkness.

Sam.

Then the scars on Dean's shoulders burned ice cold. It stabbed his bones and coursed through his limbs. Pain yanked Dean to the floor beside his brother and left him a sobbing mess.

Someone stole Castiel's grace.


	17. Elpis Pleroo

**A/N** I have to laugh at myself and my muse. I thought this would be the final chapter. But nooooo. Many billions of thanks to Ainaof for patiently beta-ing my work here! THANK YOU! You're awesome! I certainly appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read my little (cough, cough) story and hugs to those who have taken a moment to toss me a comment on a bone ;) BTW, the word 'elpis' in the Greek means _hope with confidence_-that is, a type of hope _knowing_ something is true or will happen. _Pleroo (play-row-oh) _means to fill up an inefficience, to fill completely.

Dean got his Sammy back and I'm sure he'd understand.

Elpis Pleroo

Saturday; so said those few surviving American calendars. The terrible dragonstorms ended Friday afternoon. Curfew, instigated by state and local governments, held the public secure in their homes. A week of abject horror paralyzed thirty-seven countries world-wide. Dragons claimed the skies and downed all aircraft in their territories. Planes crashed. Cities burned. Millions perished.

The hellish sky battles forced survivors to seek refuge under buildings, in caves, huddled under furniture. The fighting lit the sky on fire. Creatures and warrior angels often smashed into the earth leaving gaping craters like wounds carved into dirt and rock.

Those surviving the destruction lost count of the dead. They lost track of time, understanding only that it was either day or night.

Friday afternoon, one week after Dean, Sam and Camila disappeared, the whole world flashed in the brilliance of a most unusual light. A collective cry rose to the heavens. The light split the air, thunder cracked and rolled across the oceans, over the continents and echoed off the mountains. Windstorms took on the after-effect, sweeping across the globe with sustained winds ranging from forty miles an hour to hurricane-force gusts.

In the tiny town of Etna, California, an elderly psychic wept. His grandson turned from his Clifford book, frightened and worried.

"Gran'pa," he called. "What's a matter?"

"An angel died, Malkie. The dragons... somebody gave them back their Grace." At six years old, Malcolm did not understand the significance. His gran'pa hugged him close and silently prayed.

_Speak to me and don't say good-bye._ Dean opened his eyes to a dim, opressive world encased in silence. His heart grieved with inexplicable sadness. Something went missing and the feeling carved a hole in his soul.

_Dad?_

No. John died many years ago; his voice now a faint memory. His training still echoed in Dean's mind. His last words about Sam rang cold like a storm that came and left Dean's world cold and dreary.

Sam?

Dean tried to say his brother's name but nothing further than the first letter passed his lips. Languid and despondent, Dean flopped a tired hand over his forehead. He searched a dark, starless sky and swallowed the sadness while the bitter heartache pressed against his chest.

What about Castiel?

A soft keening accompanied movement next to Dean. He pushed up his heavy body and found Sam huddled, vocally expressing the darkness inside Dean. "Sam." Dean tried to choose between lifting his brother or holding him close. "Sam."

Sam, lying face-down, tried to hide his head. Rationality packed its bags and divorced Sammy's head a long time ago. Dean gently rubbed his brother's back. "Sammy." Dean's voice didn't work above a whisper. Sam shuddered under him. Dean bent close to Little Brother's ear. "You know, Sammy, I might be able to carry you out of Oz and back to Bobby's. But then people might think we were newlyweds or something. Fresh from Vegas. Hm?"

Sam turned a tear-streaked face toward Dean. The pain in his eyes funneled the ache in his soul. "I saw them tear you apart," he mourned.

Hell lay raw in their souls like a split and infected wound. In Sam's case, it bled badly.

Dean sought their surroundings. He found a landscape of darkness outside a sourceless ambient light. But he did not give it another thought. "Aw, Sam." He gripped Sam's arms. "Sit up. Come on, up you get. I can make better fun of you when you're facing me."

Sam let Dean drag him up and position him like a floppy doll. He grit his teeth to keep the tears back. "It's not fair." Sam's lips moved, his voice squeaked.

"What's that, Sammy?" his brother asked kindly.

"It's not right and it's not fair, Dean."

"I know. Our lives suck."

"No..." Sam swallowed as much heartache as he could. He thought of Marco-MARCO! And he paused to privately mourn the loss. Maybe it didn't matter; wherever they were, bets were off they'd ever make it back to Indiana. And if they did, Lisa would be waiting for Dean. Sam probably would go back to Abby-Focus! Focus! "It's not fair to _you_, Dean. I wanted to take myself out of the equation, take all the hardship and suffering out of your life so you could be happy. And I end up back here and I dragged you into this mess and I am so sorry!"

Dean gripped his brother's shoulders and opened his mouth to say something but words fled his mind. Mortified, confused, Dean could not find a way to express what filled his soul at the moment.

"I wanted you to be happy and free from concern about me. I couldn't remember. I'd forgotten everything in my life and little by little it comes back. Then sometimes it goes away again-"

"Sam, stop." Dean's eyes hardened and glistened with frustration but Sammy's puppy dog eyes melted Dean's resolve. Whatever he was going to say died on his lips.

Sam swallowed hard. "Look... Dean..." he batted moisture from his eyes. "I'm minus the meds. I can't think. I can't... stay on one subject. I'm not me... not the Sam you used to know. I'm going to have bad days and really, really bad days-"

"I know that, Sam. I do."

"I want you to understand," Sam pressed on, "that if it ever gets too hard for you, I don't want you to feel that you _must_ fix it or that you have to put up with it. I don't want to be a burden. I know I can always go back to Abby."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

The question threw Sam off his mental track. He blinked and his eye brows furrowed. "Wh-what?"

Dean's lips curved in a forced smile. He searched for a way to explain himself without sounding like a sopping pansy. "I lost you. Five _years_, Sam. I'm not saying things were horrible with Lisa. But they weren't _me_. I hate fixing lawn sprinklers and getting up in the morning to be to work on time. And I hate working for someone else and I hate dealing with creditors, taxes and past-due bills." He shook his head and dropped his gaze. "I stayed with Lisa cuz it's what you wanted. But Ben plus Lisa does not equal Sammy.

Speechless, Sam smiled in gratitude. "I promise I'll never make you fix a lawnmower, Dean."

Dean firmly nodded. "Damn straight. And before it starts raining hearts and flowers, how about we find out where we are and what's going on?" He caught Sam as his brother struggled to his feet. Sam shuddered and bowed over. Dean gave him a moment to control oncoming anxiety.

Sam gripped his hair and took three deep breaths. "This sucks," Sam's breath stuttered and he wiped tears with his sleeve. "How about a frontal lobotomy?"

"You'll be okay, Sam," Dean said softly.

"Gawd, I miss Marco. I just can't believe..." Sam covered his face. His breathing quickened until Dean gripped his shoulders.

"Hey. Hey, Sam. Look, I know a little bit about hellhounds, okay? Chances are she's okay. She's probably lost. But I'm willing to bet she'll be okay. Okay?" he waited while Sam struggled again to attain enough composure to move on. Dean itched to keep moving. Their gloomy location gave them no clues to their whereabouts. He saw Sam just fine-somehow. He had no idea where the soft light originated, as though it simply _was_. Dean didn't want to ask Sam. His little brother's mind busied itself with the struggle for emotional and mental stability. So Dean privately theorized they presently stood in an in-between world; neither here nor there.

However, his drive to keep moving nagged at Dean like a mean old school teacher. He resisted the urge to push Sammy who pushed himself too hard as it was. His anxiety attacks were not something Dean wanted to agitate.

Sam recovered a little at a time. His breath slowed. His tense posture relaxed and he met Dean's concerned expression with better confidence. Sam offered him a weak smile but his lips trembled with an undercurrent of grief. "I'm getting tired again, Dean. If we're going to move, we need to do it now."

"Okay. But if it gets to be too much, just plunk your ass down, Sam. I don't want you blacking out on me." Dean laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and they moved in one direction.

Dean had no idea how long or far they walked. His watch stopped working the moment they passed through the ley line. He skipped ahead by a couple of paces and walked backward, facing Sam's weary expression. "All right," he declared, "had enough. Almost two miles of the same doom and gloom place. Where the hell are we?"

Sam paused and stared at his brother expectantly.

Dean swung away, eyes lifted into a vast nothing. "Hey, God? Do you _think_ it'd be okay if I could have my baby here? How about water for Sammy and a dose of his meds? And while you're at it, I'd like a bar-B-cue bacon cheeseburger, fries and a cold brew. Oh, and it'd be GREAT if we could have Castiel and Camila back, too. Signed: Dean Winchester. Did I miss anything, Sammy?"

"How about a quiet, dark corner for me to sleep in?" Sam wanted to lie down but he didn't dare so much as sit.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Darn it, Sam. So sorry, Dude. I heard Heaven had a blue-light special on corners last week and they're on back order."

As Dean spoke, Sam spotted a soft light seeping through a narrow corridor several yards eleven o'clock of their position. Following his brother's line of sight, Dean glanced at Sam and the two progressed toward the hall.

At the corridor's other end they found the same enigmatic septagon Sam encountered in his dream. Lilith was not there. Enochian, Arabic, Latin, Sumerian and Greek text etched every wall around them. The same five languages engraved the dark metal floor. Dean used his lighter and closely examined some of the text. He shook his head, understanding only a few words."I dunno, Sammy. I think you and me have fallen off the planet; gone Stargate."

Dean waited for a remark, but only silence met him. He gazed over his shoulder, hoping Sam was simply lost in fascination. He spotted Sam standing at the far side of the septagon. His glazed eyes stared into nothing. "Oh no," Dean swallowed his panic, "No, no, no. Don't do this to me, Sammy. Sam? You're not allowed to cross the street without someone holding your hand here, Bro. Sam?"

Dean approached the septagon and lost his breath.

A burst of power winded through Dean's mind and soul; searing hot, bitter cold, as though all the forces of life and destruction slammed into and shattered him from the inside. The same shock treatment pieced him back together. Events from the past five years flipped backward in his head like a magazine.

Lisa stared at him.

Ben laughed.

The Impala sat in storage.

Dean's emotional breakdowns.

He hated his job.

He hated his life.

Sam was never coming back.

Dean's life ended in Stull Cemetery.

Fight with the devil-no contest.

Michael walked the Earth in Adam's body.

"_You were born to this, boys. It's your destiny!"_

They literally tried everything.

Shivers streaked down Dean's back and he blinked. The darkness fled, replaced with a searing light that cast the metal walls and flooring into polished bronze.

Dean returned to the present. He faced his brother who stood at the other side of the metal object. Sam's eyes held steady but their emptiness told Dean his brother's mind lay elsewhere.

"Sam," Dean called. He reached for his little brother but could not move. His heart ached when Sam's expression lined with regret and despondency.

Also forced to remain where he stood, Sam tried to breathe. He blinked and Dean called his name again. Tears constricted his breath and Sam swallowed to attain control. "Dean," his voice pleaded soft, distressed. "You grew up with a monster."

"No," Dean growled in objection."You should have said yes. You should have ended it-killed the baby."

"That baby was _my little brother_. You go, I go, Sammy. _That_'s how it's done." Dean channeled his distress into anger.

"That's not what Dad said. That's not what the angels-""Screw the friggin' angels, Sam! Screw them all! I don't care if the entire cosmos implodes because Mickey and Luci didn't get to throw their weight around in a cage match. I don't care!"

Dean pushed against the field holding him. He diverted his eyes elsewhere. His breathing came hard and he drew in as deep a breath as he could to clear his head. "Sammy... you an' me... we been through hell. And we've been through Hell. And we've come out... ass backwards, man. And I don't know what the voices in your head are telling you. I can't read what's stamped on your brain. But you need to remember what _I_ tell you, Sammy. You need to tell the Oompa Loompas in your head that your big brother says they're all full of shit. They're _wrong_, Sam. You never were, and never _will be_ a monster. You're _not_. You're not the devil's bitch and you're not destined for Hell."

Dean swallowed a large dry rock in his throat. He hated seeing his brother cry. "I raised you, Sam," his stupid voice betrayed him. "I know I wasn't perfect. There's stuff I shoulda done that I didn't. I should have stood up for you when Dad got out of line. I should have insisted he let you go to school. So many things..."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam gulped air. "You were a only a boy yourself."

Words momentarily failed Dean. It was true; he was a child raising a baby. Dad was gone. Even when he was 'home', John was emotionally absent. For some reason, however, that was okay. Dean decided he got the better end of the deal. That cocky smile, long since buried when his brother died, slowly crept over his face. Dean's eyes shined with a hint of life as his heart, now rekindled, beat with hope.

Dean nodded to himself. "You know, Sammy, all the monsters and freaks and things that tried to hijack you one way or another never succeeded. Even Lucifer, with all his promises couldn't lure you away. I'm the lucky one, Sam. I got the Golden Child everybody else wanted. I call him 'brother.'" Dean paused. "I guess in some ways, he's also my son."

Sam's eyes locked on Dean's. He blinked. "I am an idiot."

"Come again?"Sam shot his gaze upper left and frowned to himself. "_Pateras... yios_. Father-son. But on the third medallion, there was _hoi adelphoi_ which I mistranslated as _the two_ but it's not. It's translated _the brother._" Sam dropped his gaze back to Dean. "_The father-brother_, Dean, and the _brother-son_."

Dean caught onto the connection. Before he asked Sam what they needed to do, an ice-cold knife sliced the palms of his hands. He jerked and half expected the force field to hold him in place. It collapsed and so did he. He heard Sam cry out before the pitiful dim light died out.

Blue-white light exploded, blinding Dean even behind his eyelids. He did not hear himself scream. The terrible din of a million freight trains rattled his bones and nerves. Dean imagined the skin ripped off his bones. His brain caught on fire and his blood fried.

Camila rolled onto her back and coughed when her lungs welcomed the first puff of ash-free air. She opened bleary, watery eyes and greeted a dark silver sky. No sound of bird, car or bug disturbed the utter dead silence surrounding her. The huntress combed her brain for a millisecond of memory. She struggled to recall a voice, a face, a place: anything. Where the hell had she'd been? What did she do? How did she end up where she lay at the moment?

Her languid body lacked motivation. Lying on rough ground seemed just fine at the moment. She closed her weary eyes and slipped back to the dark.

_Alex squared her with his eyes as he rechecked his payload. "I'm telling you, Cam. There's nobody more dangerous out there than Dean Winchester. You see him, you point to shoot. No questions asked."_

"_He's not a criminal."_

"_You have no idea what he is. You can't begin to fathom what he is. The good thing is that his brother's long gone."_

"_I don't want to talk about it, Alex. We're never going to cross paths with them. No one has seen or heard of Dean Winchester for five years-"_

"_It don't matter, Camila. You gotta know what's out there."_

Camila opened her eyes to an unchanged sky. Alex gave her that talk on more than one occasion. That was before Abby took a stranger into her home. How odd was that? Yeah, Mike and Abby offered their home to people before, but it was always someone they knew or someone they knew who knew the person.

If only they'd known they housed Sam Winchester. Maybe they would not have been so readily happy to help out. Maybe they would have.

Now that Camila carefully thought it through, it occurred to her that other forces were at work for Sam Winchester. Something else had a hand in their lives. That was not a position to be envied. It meant that Dean and Sam were tangled in something so mind boggling, so big, the whole world could not contain it. Yes, Camila was aware of the Apocalypse. She survived her share of horror and weirdness. And she was equally mystified when it ended dead-on.

If Dean and Sam both went to Hell-the literal fire-burning, soul-sucking Pit of Despair, then maybe they're also responsible for putting an end to the Apocalypse. In that case, that alone made them special. And those forces which tried to start the end of the world were probably gearing to kill the boys off.

Yet, Camila was certain she missed something. Neither Dean nor Sam were forthcoming with their history. One thing was certain: Dean Winchester was not someone to mess with. He wasn't mean. But there lay a streak of intensity that told strangers he ate demons for breakfast.

Then there was Castiel; the biggest enigma of the three. Why would an angel meddle in the dealings of two lowly humans? Didn't angels have better, more important things to concern themselves? The longer Camila thought on it, the stronger her conviction that Dean and Sam really were more than just a couple of guys caught up in the dark world of the supernatural. She knew no one else who had an angel that called them friend.

Camila sat up and took in her whereabouts. Dry ground lay denuded of grass or leaf. A hot wind carried the loathsome stink of death with it. Where the hell was she? Camila stood and dusted her hands and jeans. Taking a three-sixty, she tried to picture her location. No sign posts, no statues, no familiar landscapes.

"DEAN?" she called. "SAM!" Nothing but the nauseating stench. Camila pressed forward, whichever direction it might be. She could not tell because the sun refused to shine and all other tell-tale land signs did not exist. Her boots scuffed the hard ground and every few yards, Camila turned round, double checking. She scanned for possible weapons, maybe something resembling water or food.

Nothing.

She paused, hands on hips, a sigh huffed from her lungs. "I'd better not be in a fucking desert," she muttered aloud. "SAAAAM! DEEEAN! CASSTEE-EL!"

Doubling her resolve, she shoved fear into a mental closet and locked it. Camila kept moving. Even a desert had bushes, shrub and cactus. If she had a lighter... the young woman patted her pockets for inventory as she tracked the ground. Oh, lookey there! A lighter! She also had a piece of paper with Dakota Grazton's new cell phone number written on it. Three pennies, a stick of chewing gum she'd forgotten about and lint completed her collection of useless articles. Well, not entirely useless. Paper and lint made for fire starter. Pennies, when hot, might be useful for something; chewing gum for a dry mouth.

Life was good.

Camila tracked the land until she encountered a dip in the geography. To her relief, buildings met her sight as daylight waned toward night. In spite of her amelioration, Camila noticed the dead stillness. No traffic, no voices. Buildings stood with the awkward silence of disuse.

How about a knife in the boot? Maybe? She searched her footwear for a small silver knife and sure enough, wee willy winki hugged the inside lining of her right boot. The ever-useful pal. With that, Camila descended into the maze of emptiness.

Crumbled asphalt dipped into several bowl-shaped patterns which narrowed and dropped two feet down. They resembled potholes, but they were similar in width and depth leading her to believe she stared at the tracks of some unknown animal.

Creepy.

The huntress slipped across the street and shouldered the first building. She recalled the terrible dragons that swarmed over Green Bay and Delaware. Maybe that's what happened here... wherever 'here' was. Swallowing dread, she kept close to the rough wall and furtively reached the other end. Camila glanced right, left and ahead. Homes, cars, dead yards all stood sleepy-still, waiting for owners to return. Maybe this was where the death-smells originated. Camila decided to test her theory by breaking into the house for a look-around.

She actually did not even have to break in. The door opened and the home greeted her with stale air. "Hello?" she called. "I'm sorry for just waltzing in... is anybody here?"No answer. She raised her voice. "HELLO? Is there anybody home?" Camila dropped her voice. "Is there anybody on this planet?" She picked her way over and around toys, shoes, clothes and found a newspaper. But the dim light of dusk kept her from reading the text. Before she torched the thing for light, the huntress snooped for other options. She found the kitchen and gaged upon approaching the refrigerator. "Do NOT open that one," she told herself. Breathing through her mouth, the girl found a drawer and rifled through it. Utensils, wooden spoons-ah, a candle lighter offered its services.

She sighed. "How about a flashlight instead? Got a flashlight, Mister and Missus Nobody?" She closed her nose for a moment and tried not to gag. The reek of rotted food hugged her skin. Another drawer offered a box of matches, a package of emergency candles, a few tools, toothpicks, straws, keys, magnets, band aids and lighter fluid."Nice," Camila approved.

She found an empty handbag dangling from a closet door and stuffed her pilfered goods to one side. She surveyed the cupboards, found two bottles of water, a can of roasted almonds, a box of crackers, a jar of applesauce and a package of cookies. Foraging other drawers, Camila found utensils, a can opener and tinfoil. Taking her task upstairs with the faithful flashlight, Camila spotted the bathroom. She nabbed soap, a towel and -jackpot-a small first aid kit.

Camila momentarily debated whether or not to venture outside. Most nasties hunted under the cover of darkness. With no life in the neighborhood, it meant anything nocturnal lurked wherever it pleased.

She returned to the kitchen and found the largest, sharpest knife available. With a greater sense of reassurance, Camila stepped into the dark.

At first she detected nothing. One street led to another, all cluttered with empty, abandoned homes. She encountered a neighborhood mini market. Tell-tale signs suggested things, people and creatures already ransacked the place. Chances were that something still lurked there, probably somewhere in the frozen food section. Camila chose to give it a wide berth and kept her footsteps light and quiet.

One mile turned into three. Camila drank water one or two sips at a time and kept her hands off the food. She hoped to find someone, preferably human, somewhere in the ghost town.

Bad choice of words, she thought.

Camila searched the next house inside-out. Although the huntress had no notion of the time, she thought it best to stop and rest so as not to be caught off guard due to slowed reflexes. She picked out a box of salt from the kitchen and lined the door to an empty closet before settling in for a little sleep.

The twitter of birds roused Camila later. She slowly sat up, mouth closed, ears open. She listened intently for movement or breathing, anything that indicated a possible presence in the house; friendly or otherwise. She stood, knife at the ready, and inched open the closet door. Indirect sunlight welcomed her to a children's bedroom. Toys, clothes and school books scattered across the floor, abandoned at a moment's notice.

Camila stepped from the bedroom into the kitchen. A broken jar of dried, sticky jam crapped orange on the floor. A dog's water dish sat empty. Dead plants hugged dirty windows. The young lady opened and slammed all the cupboards in hopes of bottled water or juice. She found several packages of jerky and one of dried fruit.

With the 'shopping' done, she returned to the streets, hoping for a more productive day.

Camila made it three more blocks before a series of creepy clicking sounds tapped all around her. She paused half way across a street. She carefully backed up and hugged her back against the wall of a shabby house.

She dared not so much as breathe.

The clicking stopped.

Her eyes scanned left to right and back. She even chanced a glance up. Dead silence hung thick and hungry like the bated breath of a predator. Knowing predators, Camila could maintain her position for days and still have the same freaky sensation. The silence enticed her into a false sense of security. But the huntress knew better.

Diving into her pocket, Camila produced a penny. She flipped it off her thumbnail: _pank-pank-plank_ it bounced on the street.

Nothing. So either the tapping really was of some small animal or the predator was intelligent enough to know the difference between pennies and prey. She waited a few more minutes before deciding she could either cower next to the building forever or take the gamble, move forward and get eaten; either way, she accomplished nothing. With a deep breath, knife tightly in hand, Camila rapped several swift steps off the sidewalk; walk fast, no running.

She made it half way across and stole a glance back. Nothing was there. Nothing chased her. Nothing flew over her. All in her mind.

She turned back and ran into a black spidery thing the size of a Dodge Ram 3500. Camila screamed when it hissed at her. She fell backward and covered her head when a long tapered leg lifted and pierced the ground next to her. A black triangular head reared up on a long neck and came too, too close to her own face.

Camila slashed hard with the knife. The blade scratched the monster's dark exoskeleton before she stabbed the tapered leg with it. The creature screeched, shot back and snapped a beak that opened sideways. Two rows of long snake-like teeth gleamed pearl white against its black hide. It hissed and clapped its jaws in her face again.

Camila jerked away, heaved her body up and kicked the freakish nightmare under the chin. It roared and its long squared tail (squared?) whipped out like a snakebite. The tail stung her deep, as though she were shot with boiling poison. She writhed along the ground, riding out the shock. The monster's faceless head snapped at her again and Camila back-rolled from its range. On her knees, she forced herself to face her alien opponent and spotted the knife just a few feet from her. But the tail lashing left a burn mark above her left breast and moving hurt like hell.

Move or die. The black beast reared up like a horse, took two steps on its back legs and came down. Camila held her breath against the pain, rolled forward on a thread of luck and lunged for the knife. The monster's legs thundered into the blacktop.

It turned as swiftly as she. One long insectoid leg lifted and plunged to impale her straight down. Camila dodged, just escaping as the beast's leg smacked the blacktop. A small crater caved around the impact. The other leg lifted and missed her again.

Those blinding white teeth snapped at her once, loud and resounding. They made a second attempt and she just barely flinched out of the way.

Third attempt: the beast reared its long neck, jaws open and out it snapped. Camila held her knife at the ninety-degree angle and caught it between the deadly teeth.

The freakish thing withdrew, confused.

A blinding light shot between her and the creature. It was suddenly gone and a loud snarling roar replaced the hissing thing. Camila recovered enough to watch as a dragon about the same size tangled and wrestled the beast. Black body and legs verses red with tail and wings tumbled along the ground, scraping, biting, snapping and hissing until the black..._thing_'s neck ended between the dragon's jaws. The head snapped off, toppled end over end and rocked on the ground, the knife yet lodged between its jaws.

The huntress jumped to her feet so fast, it took a second longer for her head to catch up. She gripped the knife but the dragon paid no attention. It gnawed at its back underfoot then licked a spot on its right forepaw just like a cat. Taking no further chances, Camila stole a silent step back.

She took a second, a third, a fourth. The dragon scratched the back of its neck like a dog then snorted. Its pumpkin-orange eyes settled on her and the dragon tilted its head to the right.

Camila held her left palm out, bitterly missing her knife. "Niiiiice...puppy." Her voice cracked. "Staaay."Its wings fanned out then folded against its reptilian form. The dragon lifted its chin and whined in sharp and lower tones just like a humpback whale.

Camila's jaw dropped in shock. Chills splayed across her back when a similar sound answered the dragon's mournful cry. A third, more distant voice sang the same song."I hope that's not the dinner bell you just called." The dragon yawned leisurely and Camila just kept walking in reverse. She glanced backward and spotted the cross-street. "I'm guessing not only can you fly, but you can outrun me, too. So... maybe if I just keep _walking_ you won't misinterpret me as a chew toy...maybe?" She kept an even pace until the street sign came into her peripheral vision. Camila turned left and walked until she passed the first house after which she ran.

Twelve houses, a vacant, grassless lot, an empty, enclosed playground and a set of townhouses came and left as Camila passed them. Winded and still sore after three quarters of a mile, she slowed but kept walking. Maybe the dragon lost interest in her and found that... freaky, four-legged... spidery-thing tasty._"C...mila?_"She almost did not hear it; a weary voice whispered light as the wind yet solid as the ground. She spun around, her eyes snapped from spot to spot until she found the source.

With a frightened gasp, the young lady dashed to Castiel's fallen form. He lay face-down, bleeding from a gash in his forehead. The fingers of his left hand stretched toward her. She gripped them and tried to examine the angel without moving him."Cass... Cass... what happened? How did you get... How badly are you hurt?"

He closed his eyes as lines of pain gave way to relief. Castiel moistened the split on his bottom lip and simply lay there soaking in Camila's presence.

Camila squeezed his shoulder and glanced around the empty neighborhood. House upon house offered the potential for shelter, water and/or food. But nothing indicated where they were or whether or not Dean and his brother might be nearby.

"_Sur-oktoo. Sormel iblee. Nachtuth, Castiel."_

Camila swallowed air as she watched a black dragon, twice the size of her rescuer, climb up from the back of the house across the street to sit on the rooftop. Powerful wings spread from either side of the great beast and its huge eyes glinted with blue fire.

"Don't be afraid, Camila. He won't hurt you." Cass did not open his eyes.

She drew the useless knife and wished for a real shotgun. "It's a dragon, Castiel."

"Hmhm."

"Cass, don't go to sleep yet... wait a minute... you shouldn't be trying to sleep at all."

The huge dragon spoke softly, its voice seeped into Camila's bones and projected a warmth she could not identify. _"We are searching for Castiel's Grace._"

Camila had no idea what to say to that. She opened her mouth to ask the angel, but Cass already fell to sleep. She gathered her courage and looked to the dragon. "What's your name?"

"_Your Human tongue could not pronounce my name_."

In spite of her fear, Camila glared at the creature. "Fine. I'll give you a name-"

"_Adrith. You may call me 'Adrith_'. The dragon slid his body forward. Roof shingles ripped from their location and plummeted to the ground. Camila tried to mask her quaking heart.

"Adrith, we can't leave Castiel here like this."

"_Explain."_

"He's... he has a human body and the concrete sidewalk is uncomfortable. He's bleeding and I do not know-"

"_Yes. The angel was injured during the fight. He lost. We came for him when we came back to Life."_

"You can't leave him here like this."

The dragon's enormous head tilted._ "What would you like me to do?"_

Castiel awoke to darkness and calm. He recognized the friendly dragon's mountainous shape and tried to piece together his whereabouts. He remembered the fight with Abaddon. Dean found him. He found and took care of Sam. Distressing dark engulfed him and then... and then... Castiel's memory splintered into shards of seconds as though time and events skipped across reality like entire chapters torn from a history book. Only the barest of essentials came to Cass; the dark. Unimaginable pain assaulted his mind. Something precious shattered within him. Castiel thought himself lost, life force without a form. His latest memory was of hard cement; Earth and dragons.

"_The girl said you might be more comfortable on a softer surface. She has much courage."_ Dragonspeak was not complicating to understand-as far as angels are concerned. But after not hearing it for untold number of centuries, Castiel batted his eyes in surprise when the voice filtered into his mind rather than through his vessel's ears. At another time, the angel would have thought it funny that the dragon even spoke to him in a human language.

Unusually tired and worried for Dean and Sam, Castiel only nodded and spoke out loud. "Her name is Camila and I don't think it was courage so much as concern for another person." He pushed his senses through the lightless world and traced the dragon's shape.

The creature's aura projected curiosity and calm. _"I doubted she could not pronounce my name. So I invented a new one."_

"I am sorry. Would you like me to tell her-"

"_Your concern is appreciated, Castiel. But my preference is insignificant given the circumstances. The search for your Grace continues, Castiel. We yet have not heard news of Imadradas."_

The featureless landscape of dreams swirled in Camila's mind. Distant heavy voices spoke to her in hushed tones. She thought she heard someone use Adrith's name, then Castiel's. Memories of glass statues stared at her with vacant eyes. One by one they shattered and she shot up with a gasp. Daylight greeted her first then Castiel's calm gaze stilled her racing heart. She scratched the back of her neck then popped her vertebrae. The skin above her left breast ached with a dark bruise above which now sat an ugly welt. She'd live but Camila wished ever harder for a cup of hot coffee. "Cass?"

"I am unharmed, Camila. Thank you."

"Um..." She found her provisions bag and reached for a bottle. "Did you need something to drink?"

"No. I do not think so. Adrith informed me you were attacked by a Matrix Virus yesterday."

Camila did not want to ask about the freaky black spider-thing. She tried to forget it and studied the dragon. To get Castiel comfortable, Adrith ripped open the front section of the nearest home and laid Castiel on the couch. The angel slept through the afternoon and into the night. Camila had no notion of the present time. At least daylight ruled the sky again. Taking the bottle of water she currently used and the box of crackers, Camila sat on the floor next to Castiel. Chills coursed through the marrow in her bones. The dragon, no matter how mannerly or considerate, terrified her.

"Camila," Cass' voice filtered soft in the dark, "where are Dean and Sam?"

"I don't know" she answered in monotone. "I woke several miles from here by myself."

"_Then they are not here,"_ Adrith concluded.

Camila huffed. "Obviously." She silently offered Castiel water and crackers.

Castiel shook his head and shifted slightly. "He means on Earth, Camila."

"Oh."

"_They walk the in-between worlds."_

"Can you... can you retrieve them?"

"_No. Imadradas knows the way. He merely needs to find the courage to remember. Those paths are dark and narrow. Angels do not tread them. Although, Castiel, I have heard you traveled the paths Between."_

"It was an assignment at the time, nothing more."

Camila held up her hands to interrupt. "Okay, okay, okay. Um, I need some questions answered here." The dragon blinked and Camila dragged in a shuddering breath. "Okay. Um. You dragons... you guys obliterated an untold number of cities here on Earth and now you're buddies with Castiel. Ssssooo... did you suddenly get religion or something?"

"Grace," Castiel answered for her.

"What?"

"_Abaddon committed a crucial mistake. He tried to sacrifice Castiel to open the Abyss."_

Camila held her hands out. "I'm sorry. I think I'm missing something here. Abaddon who? What's the Abyss and what has this got to do with Sam and Dean missing? And you know, you did not really answer my first question."

"_She is likable, this one, Castiel. She has fear, but is not afraid to face it."_

The chill lodged in her inner bones moved to her back. Castiel's answer purged the dead silence with his soft, unruffled tones. Though he said nothing of it, Camila heard pain in his voice. "The Apocalypse started exactly as it was supposed to. But no one counted on Dean's and Sam's personal... bias in the matter."

That raised a whole other batch of questions, but Camila decided to deal with one matter at a time. She settled down, now at ease. Castiel's beautiful blue eyes shined with inner purity.

"The Apocalypse was derailed and not everyone was pleased about it. The aversion created a disruption in history. What was supposed to go down as _organized chaos-something predictable-_before perfect restoration is now _uncontrolled chaos_. No one in Heaven knows what they're supposed to do, what role they have to fill. There is dissent now and some angels are trying to take Michael's place. No one counted on Sam Winchester's return."

"From Hell," Camila added. Both the dragon and the angel focused their gaze on her. She ducked her head slightly. "Dean... told me. I didn't want to believe it. But... I can't discount it, either. It sounds so far-fetched but I-I believe him." She frowned and looked away, saddened for the brothers. "So... Cass, tell me about the dragons."

"My Grace was stolen so that Abaddon could open the Abyss. His plan failed because of Dean."

Camila blinked. "What?"

"_A small part of Castiel is Human." _Adrith explained. _"In order to take Dean Winchester out of Hell, Castiel had to carry part of Dean's soul within himself. Because of that, Castiel's Grace slipped from Abaddon and split." _Adrith's front claws neared Camila and she gave him her full attention. "_Those dragons here on Earth who lost their Grace were given a portion of Castiel's Grace. We are no longer bound to the Water Gates nor do we heed Abaddon's words._"

Camila looked to Castiel, eyes wide with astonishment. "Does that mean you do not have your Grace anymore?"

"No. Only parts of my grace now reside in the dragons, Camila. I am still an angel. It's just that... we don't know where all the parts of my Grace have fallen to."

Dean walked tireless along a parched road in a silent world devoid of cities or residents. Tall freaky trees twisted and bent their gnarled, leafless limbs toward a sullen red-brown sky. Creepy long-necked birds eyed him curiously as Dean passed them. One bird half-cawed, half-screamed before it spread tattered wings and took flight. He paused and raised his eyes to a dim sky patched with dark red clouds and three moons.

"Just keep going, Winchester," he told himself aloud, "sooner or later WhatsHisName will arrive." The road twisted far and dry before him. The night, ever-present and calm, cloaked the world from a naked sun.

The road crested at the top of a ridge and dropped onto an old but sturdy wooden bridge suspended over a bottomless canyon. Fear quickened Dean's heartbeat and he hesitated. He allowed his eyes to wander along the ragged banks and cliffs half a mile at the other side. He drew a deep breath and took the first step then backed off with another breath wrought with nerves.

"This isn't gonna help Sam," he told himself. He filled his lungs again, gripped the rope at either side and took another first step. It wasn't that the bridge was unsafe or unsteady, but that falling off led down a place Dean preferred to never return. This was the Dark Road; a place he never told Sam about; a road that led from Hell to In-Between. A guide waited at the other end of the bridge to send Dean's soul back to Earth.

As Dean neared the other side, a figure, tall and built like a rock, appeared as though from nowhere. His smile spread under a moustache. His ancient eyes gleamed with familiarity. Dean stepped off the bridge and the man's hands clasped firmly around Winchester's.

"Dean Winchester! As I live and dream!"

Dean needed no introduction. "Baldur?" he asked. "Your father-" he stopped with a wince. "Oh, I'm sorry about your father."

Baldur nodded deeply. The eight-foot giant led Dean along the road, over a dell and into a broad valley. "It's a long story, Dean. But suffice it to say he had it coming."

Dean shook his head, remembering how Odin, Gabriel and several other Pagan gods died at the hands of Lucifer shortly before Sam dragged the devil back into the Cage. "Not like that, he didn't."

"What a kind thing to say!" Baldur smiled again. "At least father is receiving everything he dished out over the millennia."

Dean nodded, not knowing how to answer that. His legs stretched their full stride to keep up with Baldur. "Is Sam here?"

"Kai Ishako? Your brother? No. No. He was spared this."

Dean paused, breath not forthcoming. "He's... he's not Downstairs, is he?"

"Hee," Baldur wheezed. "Sam Winchester? Back in Hell? What, one trip isn't enough for you boys? No. They took him Up. Guess they know that there'd be more riots than usual in Hell. Trust me, there's enough down there to keep the kraken and enforcers busy. Word has it Kafe de Lum just arrived. There's three levels fighting over his carcass. Not pretty. No, they don't need 'nother soul _that_ valuable down there."

Dean's brows raised at the word 'valuable'. He steadied himself when Baldur laid a huge hand on his shoulder.

"Word running 'round is that you boys got yer names written in the Book. An' that means Michael's gonna be Downstairs for quite a while. Those wings who followed his _Das Kapital_ got their balls singed big time. An' I been told to send you Up, Dean. Been good to see you again."

Before Dean could ask if Up was Earth or Heaven, the world around him flared silver-grey. The dim, dreary desert disappeared. Dean sucked in air as the world faded from dark to beautiful light. Tall shapes, fuzzy to his eyes, focused in seconds and he found himself in a library.

He scoffed. "A library? Come on! I'm allergic to libraries!"At first Dean heard nothing except the rustle of pages and an open door closing. Then an old man crossed the aisle in which Dean stood.

He disappeared then back-stepped and smiled kindly. "Young man, you seem lost. Oh, wait just a second... you're not scheduled to be here yet."

"Excuse me?" Dean glanced to the row on his left, devoid of other people.

The gentleman smiled even broader and approached, closing the book in his hands. "You _are_ Dean Winchester, are you not?" Dean numbly nodded. "Well, you're not scheduled to be here yet. Why don't you come upstairs with me and we'll get this straightened out.""My brother, Sam..."

"First things first, my friend." Dean allowed the elderly gentleman to take him by the arm and guide him across the largest library he'd ever seen. They padded upstairs on a thick carpet. "You're not the first who arrived here by accident, you know. I recall Robert Schuller once did the very same thing." The gentleman paused and faced Dean for a handshake. "I am Brandon, by the way."

Dean took his hand with uncertainty and followed the guy through a set of glass doors. They passed two rows of huge books and approached a large wrought iron desk with two comfortable chairs and a type of computer Dean had never seen before; the screen, made of light, floated in mid air. Brighter points of light traced the 'screen's outer edges and the cursor blinked several times before it flared, ready to serve. He heaved a deep breath and told himself to just go with it.

Brandon settled at one chair and offered the other to Dean. "Now, let's see where you're supposed to be."

Dean leaned forward, ignoring the holographic images flickering in the air. "How about you tell me where I am."

"You're in Heaven, Dean. Library of Commons. Twenty-seventh floor, Sector ninety-two."

"There are libraries in Heaven?"

Brandon softly laughed. "Your brother asked Castiel the very same thing. Yes. Did you think people just sat around on the grass all day and pet the sheep or hang in the clouds and played harps? There's real life in Heaven just as there is on Earth, Dean. It's simply that no one dies here or gets ill. There's no depression, no desire to crime."

Dean slightly shrugged and muttered. "Well, me and Sam would be out of a job."

Brandon grinned. "Dean, try to think of the most perfect day to drive your Impala on the highway. Think of the most beautiful places you've driven your car. Put them together and try to imagine that scenario as an even better one. That is Heaven, Dean."

"Yeah, so says an angel," Dean huffed bitterly.

"I'm not an angel, Dean." The guy faced him, eyes glowing. Dean lost his expression. Brandon tapped the air then looked back. "My name is Brandon Fetterton. I look like this to you because you're still in your original human body. I was an accountant working in the World Trade Center before it was destroyed in 2001." He shrugged. "I died and came Home."

Brandon paused half a second then turned back. "I found your car and I've notified Castiel where to find you."

"Not without Sammy."

Brandon said nothing and tapped at keys Dean could barely see. He tried to read the text but it came in a language like nothing he'd seen on Earth, not even in Enochian. Brandon wiped the bottom of his lip and gave Dean an uncertain look. I've been told to offer you a choice, Dean."

"Whatever it is, I'll pick Sam."

"It's not that. Sam is here, too." Dean tucked relief into his back pocket and kept expectancy on his face. Brandon stood and pushed the chair under the desk. "I'll take you to Sam. But you must decide to either leave him here, happy and free or take him back to Earth damaged as before. Either way it's ultimately be up to him."

Dean struggled against his emotions. "It's not my time, but it's Sam's?"

Brandon nodded. "I'm sorry, Dean. I really am."

Dean's eyes hardened. His jaw clenched against the impending feeling of loss. He simply could not lose Sam again. "How about we include Sam in this conversation?"

"Fair enough." Brandon laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. They turned and the library vanished. They stood in a green meadow enclosed by willow trees, eucalyptus and other trees Dean had never seen before. Sweet smelling, cool thick grass met their feet and to the right stood a large canopy made of burnished silver and opalescent pearl. Three curved tables stood therein and several people sat there listening to a gentleman as he talked about the physics of wind. At the edge of the nearest table sat Sam, aptly watching the teacher draw a diagram in the air and demonstrate the power of hurricane undercurrents.

Sam caught movement at the corner of his eye and upon seeing Brandon and his brother, he quietly left the lecture and embraced Dean for all he was worth. Dean hugged him in turn, fingers in his brother's hair. They released and Dean checked Sammy for scars but found none. No new scars, no old scars. No worry or fear darkened his brother's eyes.

Sammy smiled. Truly smiled. With an arm across Dean's shoulders, Sam guided his brother and Brandon over the next gentle dell to a large water fountain. Dean took in the smell of lilac and gardenia. And somewhere in the air he heard the subtle sounds of music. The air tingled against his skin. Not far away a mockingbird sang its heart out. He sat next to Sam at the fountain and watched as silver-blue fish flicked away.

"Dean," Sam's voice sounded lighter than it had in years and years. "I've been waiting for you. I don't know how long... time doesn't pass here like it does elsewhere."

Dean swallowed hard. "Sammy... they said it's not my time yet." He nodded toward the fountain. "This is really Heaven?" Rather than answering with words, Sam raised his eyes and Dean copied. A delicious blue sky spread over them in layers. He traced the bare outlines of near-transparent mansions and roads leading to places he could not imagine.

"They told me our house isn't done yet, Dean," Sam's voice filled with eagerness. "They said there's something extra special there for you but they won't tell me what it is. They did ask me a couple questions about the Impala, though-"

"Sammy," Dean's heart caught in his throat. It took an extra breath to get the words out. "I can't stay. Brandon here says it's not my time."

Sam's eyes went puppy and he faced Brandon. "Dean deserves this so much more than me. Can't we just trade places?"

"No," Dean objected. "It's-it's okay, Sam. You're safe here. And, God, you're happy." Dean honestly was glad to see Sam so quick to smile. He was willing to return to Earth, but he'd be without his little brother again. Even if it was for just a few years, it still hurt.

Sammy shook his head. "No. I won't do that, Dean. I already guessed what the last five years did to you. Let me find out if we can switch places-"

"Sammy-" Dean almost objected again when Brandon stepped in.

"Sam, it won't work that way. It's simply not Dean's time to come Home yet. You have to choose between staying here and returning to Earth. Dean must choose between leaving you here... and taking care of you down there. If you go back, Sam, you will be reinstated in your earthly body and you will have to endure the same suffering as you have over the last few years because that is part of that world."

Sam's eyes slipped from Brandon to his brother. "Heaven without my brother or insanity on earth?"

Dean could not breathe.


	18. Biospherical en Verticalis

Author's note: Angsty! The muse would not be satisfied unless she's had her fill of angst. You have been warned!

I've decided to go ahead and publish this before my beta reader finished it, so all mistakes are mine-Sorry, Ainaof. :) Uber amounts of gratitude goes to Ainaof for patiently beta reading the story for me!

And Thank you! To everyone who has graciously taken time to read and commented on this story... you reminded me why writing is its own reward.-Tams!

Biospherical en Verticalis

_John Winchester scoffed at his fifteen year-old son as he dumped his duffel on the rickety motel room table. He slipped off his jacket and shoes, then headed straight for the whiskey. _

"_You reading?" the hunter poured a small amount of drink into a glass, swirled it and dropped it down his throat._

"_Sorta, I guess." Dean raised his eyes over the cover._

"_Class project?" John collapsed into the stiff chair and unzipped his duffel. _

"_No, sir."_

"_What is it, then?" Dean shrugged, closed the book and displayed the cover. John squinted at the dark cover art. "What the hell is that, Dean?"_

"_Called the Necronomicon."_

"_Let me see it."_

_Dean assumed his father's usual disapproval but obeyed anyway. He slipped off the bed with hopes John kept his voice down and not wake his little brother. Sammy slept hard; sick three days with the flu._

_John huffed half a gruff laugh as he turned the first page. "What is this crap?"_

"_Just something I found in the library. H.R. Giger or Geeger or something."_

"_Supposed to be based on H.P. Lovecraft." John rolled his eyes._

"_I know, it's just fairy tales," Dean defended. He swept his book from his parent's hands and aimed for the bed. _

_But his father grasped his wrist and brought him back. "Sit." John waited for his son to settle. Dean waited for a lecture, sorry he ever set eyes on the book. "I want you to understand something, Dean," his dad said simply. "Just because it's wrapped up as fiction and crappy art doesn't always mean it's a fairy tale."_

_Dean blinked, surprised. "Okay."_

"_Many times people experience things they cannot explain; things outside the norm. They can't always just go to the police or tell anyone else about it. So they tell stories to entertain. Now it's likely that this guy... Lovecraft... earned money and a reputation from telling a good tale. But learn to look between the lines, Dean. The world is not flat and squared. Not all light shines with the same brightness. Not everything is as cut and dry as you perceive it. What you see is not always what is really there. The world and the life in it exists in layers, Dean. Very few of those layers are obvious and scrutable._"

At the time, Dean didn't get it. He only knew the world at large lived in ignorance and denial. Things that crawled, crept and killed lived in the dark crevices of people's lives. Much of the time that kind of evil lived outside a normal person's periphery; just outside their standard perceptions.

But those things were real. Believing in their existence was easy; Dean often saw them. He never doubted that he cultivated the ability to find such things, but it wasn't until he was much older that Dean Winchester realized he was genetically inclined to finding or seeing such things as ghosts, unknown entities or monsters.

At first Dean could not decide to feel honored or disgusted that he and Sam had been manipulated in such a way-_again_. He had no doubt angelic and demonic interference made he and Sam what they were.

What really disturbed Dean Winchester was the fact that Earth wasn't the only plane of existence. Heaven, Hell, Fae, Purgatory, the Water Gates, the Abyss and many, many other places mentioned in myths and legends all existed. In the larger scheme of things, Dean understood there really was no such thing as supernatural; merely other planes of existence.

The non-corporeal was just as real as the world of flesh and bone. What makes things such as ghosts, demons, angels and all other things seem supernatural to Mr/Mrs. Average Joe Blow is they are not common on Earth.

That train of thought led Dean to another track. He and Sam have been so involved with the supernatural, gotten so deep into it, he could not help but wonder if that connection and involvement made him and his brother supernatural themselves.

Did that make them less Human?

Or is it that Dean's personal definition of humanity itself was flawed? What was Human? What was supernatural? What did that make him? More than that, what did that make his brother?

Sam.

Dean scrambled off the ground, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Squinting against baleful daylight, he scanned the surroundings with waning enthusiasm. Green grass, tall trees and a glaring cloudy sky told him nothing. No signs of civilization; not so much as a telephone pole or sounds of a distant highway clued him to his whereabouts.

Humidity and mild temperatures gave Dean the impression it was either a cool summer day or a nice autumn afternoon. Just how alone was he...

Where was Sammy? Did Sam... did Sam choose to stay in Heaven?

"Saaaam?"

No answer. Dean called again and again with similar results.

Dean's throat tightened and he ground his teeth against oncoming tears. He was alone. But if Sam chose to stay in Heaven, at least he was safe and happy. Dean had no right to begrudge his brother's choice. After all, a life without sanity... what would that be for them? Dean tried to convince himself that an insane Sammy was not something he wanted to deal with. Dropping out the window of a two-story building or writing stuff under the bed or dealing with suicidal depression simply wasn't a happy life.

Dean wiped off a tear. Thank goodness no one was around to see him whine and bawl like a little girl who can't have her teddy. Just grow up and deal with it! Besides, Lisa and Ben... Were they even still alive?

Dean checked his pockets for a cell phone. No such luck. No gun, no knife and no lighter. At least he wasn't butt-naked.

He started walking, crushing grass and weeds under heavy steps. He didn't know where to or care which direction. He just walked forward and hoped to encounter a road or some place with a phone. The situation struck a familiar chord. Walking out of the grave, remembering where he was but not how he got out. First impulse: contact Bobby.

Two miles of soft slopes, long grasses and fir trees gave way to a highway. Dean was never happier to see blacktop except in his car-with Sam.

He choked up again and reminded himself that Sam made the right choice. He'd see his brother again and that's what was really important.

A few moments later, Dean spotted a dog (pretty sure it was a dog) bounding down the road toward him. He thought it weird that he'd encounter a dog where there should be cars and trucks. Maybe he traveled a back road; a place used only by summertime tourists. But as the dog galloped closer, Dean recognized the creature and picked up his pace. Adrenaline poured into his veins and he let Marco ram into him. Dean dropped on his ass and laughed, greeting the rottie-shepherd mix as she licked and kissed him. Her tailless rump wagged with excitement.

"_Rwar-oo rwar, rwar, rwar!"_ She cried.

"Marco!" Dean hugged her close. "Marco, dammit, how'd the hell did you find me? You're such a good girl! Yes you are!" he couldn't help himself. Dean searched the sky, face bright with relief. "Thanks," he said.

Marco slipped from his grip and danced, jumped and baited Dean to follow her down the road. Dean picked himself up with a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't alone now. Marco darted off and came back as he walked along. He hoped she didn't just appear like he did; out in the middle of nowhere. But that wasn't Winchester luck. Chances were, he and Marco were twenty, maybe fifty miles outside of Nowheresville, USA. His four-legged friend pranced and teased him tirelessly, dancing as though her heart would burst from her chest (he hoped not).

"Sure missed you, girl," he said at length. "I think I like you this size much better than riding you like a horse. No more canyon-jumping from here on out. Deal?"

"_Rwar-oo rwar, rwar_." She sneezed and her silliness settled to a trot.

"Good. Glad we agree on something." Dean followed her two miles or more before they encountered a road sign:

BLUE RIDGE 5 MILES

Dean paid no attention to the rest. He searched his vacant head for references to Blue Ridge... _mountains?_ Then it clicked. "We're still in Georgia!" He glanced left to repeat it to his companion but found Marco sniffing out a spot to 'fertilize' the ground. Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, Marco. It'll take us a good hour to get there. Hopefully we can sweet talk some nice lady out of a free dinner and use her phone." Marco did not follow and whined until Dean turned back around. "What?"

She stood there and panted.

"What?" Dean repeated. "Aren't you coming with me?"

She gave him the saddest look and back tracked, nose down. Dean huffed. "Oh I get it. You know this area better than me, is that it? You're now a GPS on four legs? What about food? I promise to feed you."

He followed, figuring Marco probably found someone living off the road nearby. Hopefully they weren't cannibals or weirdos of another sort. Dean had more than his fair share of strangeness. He ducked through tangled brush and low tree limbs before reaching a wide clearing.

He didn't need to see the full picture. With a 'no way' hanging between his lips, he bolted for the Impala and rounded the car to the driver's side. Sam sat with the door open, feet on the ground, head bowed. He didn't look up even when Marco happily nosed him. Little Brother shivered and rocked, arms wrapped tightly about himself.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice barely escaped his throat.

"Help me," Sam whispered. "Help me... help me..."

Dean grabbed his little brother by the shoulders, hauled him up and squeezed him tightly. "It's all right. I'm here, Sam. I've got you. I'm here. I'm here." Sam's hands and arms gripped Dean about his head and shoulders. He shuddered and wept silently, repeating "I can't... I can't..."

Sam's distress locked his body; he could not move. Dean guided his brother a step at a time around the car where he tucked Sammy into shotgun. Marco scrambled into the backseat and watched as Dean plucked out an extra jacket, a blanket, Sammy's meds and an extra cell phone before jumping into the driver's side. Marco snitched a kiss in Dean's ear then two between pants. Dean covered Sam securely and grinned. "Thanks for the lovin' Marco."

He settled behind the wheel and dialed Bobby's number. Nothing. The phone's readout declared NO SERVICE. With a grunt, Dean dropped the phone and started up the Impala. Such a lovely sound to his ears! He carefully picked their way back to the road. Dean did not want to know the details; the who and how his brother and his Baby ended in the same place. He tossed another prayerful thank you heavenward as the Impala passed the exit into Blue Ridge.

Sam shivered even with the heat on. He soundlessly wept until Dean gently rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sammy, honestly, you could have stayed. I won't lie; I would have missed you like ..." he almost said 'like hell' but it wasn't the right thing to say. "I would have missed you... m' whole life. But you would have been better off."

Sam sat quiet for a long time. His eyes followed the road as they passed trees and hills and wound their way through the mountains. "Are you upset with me?" His voice came so quiet, uncertain.

"No," Dean said with similar volume. "Hell, no. But you could have, and you didn't."

Again a long silence stretched between them until Dean drove into Dawsonville. Dean said nothing to his brother about the eerie empty streets and a few seriously damaged buildings. He tried the cell phone again. No service. But with an uncommon stroke of luck, Dean spotted an open Subway complete with a drive through. Two cars waited ahead of them and Dean tried not to think too much about the unusual silence hanging in the small town. Sam's brother rolled his window down and checked Marco's status in the backseat. He noticed the McDonald's across the street stood dark and empty.

"You went to Hell, Dean," Sam finally, finally replied. Their eyes crossed paths. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. "And you didn't have to."

With an affectionate pat on his brother's knee, Dean ordered four sandwiches (two for Marco), two coffees, four bottles of water, one orange juice and three chocolate chip cookies. He thanked the young man with a broad smile and dug out a cookie before driving off.

Had he taken an extra moment to glance behind them, Dean would have seen the young man vanish and the Subway restaurant suddenly shut down.

With shaking hands, Sam downed his meds with the juice. His nerves sat on edge and he wavered between rage and tears. Dean slipped in a 'quiet' music tape he put together years ago when Sam suffered migraines and could not handle the head-banging. Metallica's 'Sanitarium' wasn't exactly George Winston, but at least it was a happy medium.

Dean drove half an hour to Cumming, Georgia and found the city park with ease. They settled at a table and let Marco out before diving into their sandwiches. Neither brother spoke as they ate and occasionally tossed some of their munchies to their furry companion. Marco wolfed both her one-foot subs and raced along the grass. The air chilled as the day slowed toward sunset.

Dean checked the phone a last time as ate his second cookie and emptied his second bottle of water. "Damn," he muttered. He lightened his mood: "Should have asked that kid at the window what the day was."

Sam chewed thoughtfully. "It's Thursday."

"How do you know?"

"Cuz all good things start on Thursdays."

Dean shrugged and nodded. "I'll go along with that. But what if it's not Thursday?"

"Then we're missing time." Sam finished his coffee and held up the cup. "By the way, thanks for the coffee-and the sandwich. It's a brave thing you've done stopping at a place that doesn't normally use six quarts of grease to cook their food."

Dean grinned. "I like their Philly subs, Sammy. Cheese, extra meat, toasted-"

"-stirred, not shaken?" Sam matched his brother's grin.

"Exactly!"

Sam softly laughed and Dean thought it the most beautiful sound he'd ever hear. He rolled the sandwich wrappings and tossed paper and plastic into the nearby trash.

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked as he finished the last of his meal.

"We're going to head back to Atlanta, see if anybody misses us. If there's nobody there, it'll be Indiana." Dean watched as Marco tried to bite flies buzzing around her. He hoped to find Lisa and Ben in one piece, safe and sound. He hoped to find everyone in their circle safe and good. After that was anyone's guess. Maybe it was a good time to take that trip to the Grand Canyon.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice reached him in soft, somber tones. Dean came back to the moment, knowing Sam wanted to say something important. Drawing a deep breath he raised his brows at his brother and hoped it wasn't something bad.

Sam hesitated, signifying what he wanted to say was going to be a sensitive topic. He fingered the table a moment, summoning whatever courage he had. "Dean," he repeated, "ah... this is really hard." Sam had his brother's attention but knew if he looked Dean in the eye, he'd not be able to finish what he needed to say. "I... I know you said that, um, that you want me to stick around-"

"Damn straight, Sammy."

Sam meekly nodded and swept his eyes up to meet Dean's intense gaze. "The thing of it is, Dean... I can't hunt anymore. I just can't. I know Camila says I'm good. That's not the problem. It's the cost, what it does to me after. All those guys who sent me stuff, like the video I watched when you first came... they're part of a small group for whom I did research."

Dean searched his little brother's expression, hoping to guess where this was leading. "Soo... you're saying all you wanna do is research?"

"Well, no... more than that, Dean." Dean shook his head, held his palms up, unable to guess. Sam gave an earnest look. "I want to start a school... for hunters."

Dean had no idea how to take that. The only experience he had in school was either goofing off or pain and suffering from sheer boredom. "What... you want to set up a... Salt & Burn High School?"

"Well, no." Sam grimaced. "Actually I thought of Archangel Institute." He shrugged and pressed on. "We'd find a secluded, out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere place with lots of room. You'd handle the weapons and physical training and I'd handle the craft, spellwork and history." he watched Dean as his big brother sifted through the idea, sowing seeds of images that grew into possibilities. Encouraged, Sam continued. "It won't be a large school-_ever_. And we'd pick and chose who'd be accepted. Think on it, Dean: most hunters learn from other hunters. Or hunters learn from their families. And even with the Water Gates closed, there's things out there that can't be handled by the handful or half dozen hunters crossing the country."

"You've been thinking about this for a long time, haven't you?"

Sam drew a deep breath and wrapped his arm around Marco as she nosed him. "Yeah." He choked up and did not bother to wipe the tear tracking his cheek. "It's just that... I've seen enough death... in my life, Dean. Even if I can't remember everything prior to Abby and Mike rescuing me, I remember enough of Hell to know that I have no business seeing more of it up front and personal. I..." Sam teared up and embraced Marco closely. "I can't live a life afraid that one day I'll find you ripped apart. I can't... I can't..."

Dean left his seat and sat next to his brother and hugged him tightly, hand in Sammy's hair, chin on little brother's head. "It's a good idea, Sam," he said softly.

Sammy nestled his head on Dean's shoulder and shuddered. "Yeah?" Dean's warmth chased off his anxiety.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Yeah, it's a really good idea. All we need to do is pull it off somehow."

Sam smiled. With Dean Winchester, anything was possible.

The forty-five minute drive between Cumming and Atlanta made Dean wish he'd taken a longer route. The highway lay desolate; Damnation Alley in both directions. Except for a few stubborn trees, the land lay bereft of anything green. Dark scars smoldered along other stretches. Part of a highway overpass caved over the northbound road. Deep giant claw marks etched the roadway surface so that Dean had to drive more carefully the closer they approached Atlanta.

He kept his eyes open for signs pointing their way toward Stone Mountain and hoped he did not have to wake his little brother for help with directions. Sam slept fitfully and whimpered until Dean laid a hand on him. Honestly, they should head straight for Indiana and from there to South Dakota. Dean could not explain to himself why he bothered to head toward Stone Mountain. He certainly should not drag Sam through any place that resembled Hell in any form.

Dean recalled the sculpture replica of the Enforcer. He involuntarily shivered and shoved his thoughts as far from his time Downstairs as he could. He called up his favorite bar-B-Que recipe and decided the first weekend they'd get, he'd make it for Sam. But Dean could not completely fool himself. Hell simmered just under the surface of their memories, raw and ugly like scars, fresh from a bad surgery.

Dean narrowed his eyes as he coached his baby along a series of seriously damaged roads. Blown and melted buildings slumped and scattered in every direction. Smoldering ruins puffed ominous amounts of black smoke. Several automobiles and a bus resembled rocks of molten metal and glass. Dozens of buildings carried freaky claw prints along their sides.

The worst of it were the bodies. Dean gave his sleeping brother another cautious sidelong glance and prayed Sammy stayed asleep. He did not need to see the unbelievable number of dead in their cars, on the sidewalks or half dangling out building windows. Dean shut the Impala's air off and hoped to get through Atlanta without sucking in too much contaminated, poisonous air. The bloated, rotted, fried and half-eaten carcasses forced him to keep swallowing.

Sam had no idea how long he slept. He surfaced from abstract dreams to the sounds of a most familiar song. It was beautiful, but lost to a life in Hell. His lungs refused another breath and Sam struggled against another onset of tears. He stirred against the blanket and earned a double glance from his brother.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted wearily. "We just shot out Atlanta's backdoor. How 'r you feelin'?"

"Like-" Sam quickly cleared his tight throat. "Like I've been MIA for a century." Sam cast his gaze away, instantly regretted the words.

Dean swallowed a lump against the reminder and reinforced his attention on the empty road and the oncoming bridge in the distance. They were both old beyond their years. Sammy's voice squeaked with tears again. Dean wanted to lay eyes on his brother but chose to give Sam some momentary emotional privacy.

"It's been years... Dean, since I've heard this song. I just, um... I can't remember the words. I can't... I can't even remember who sings-"

Dean smiled, but kept his eyes forward. "Styx, Sammy. Babe."

Confusion, uncertainty and disgust masked Sam's face. "Did-did you just call me Babe?"

Dean shook his head once with a wide grin. "Oh, I'm sure there has been a time or two that I should have-WHOA!"

Sam braced the dash. The Impala climbed the bridge and Dean swerved hard against the right-side railing to avoid collision with the boney wing of a fallen dragon. Metal against metal screeched in Dean's ears and he flinched as though he cut himself. He just scratched the hell out of the Impala's right side.

The grey and white dragon's huge carcass slumped across the overpass, its left wing and long tail draped over the edge. Dean came inches from smashing the Impala's windshield.

The boys sat, mouths open, hearts pounding as the Impala purred. Marco set her front paws behind Dean and yawned.

Sam drew a deep breath. "I think I just lost half a year, Dean." He shuddered.

Dean rolled his window down for a quick cool breeze but rolled it back up. The stench made them gag and they covered their noses and mouths. Marco whined and settled back. Shifting Baby in reverse, Dean drove off the overpass and took the exit and made a right hand turn. "I could really learn to hate dragons," he growled. He glanced furtively at Marco. "You okay back there, girl? Huh? Lost any lunch? Marco." She responded by sitting up and panting. Sam sunk into his seat and stared at the sullen clouded sky. Dean drove six blocks before taking another chance for fresh air.

"'kay, well, I guess we're going to need an alternate route, Sammy. Got car, will travel."

"Do we have a Georgia map?" They blinked 'no' at each other.

One obliterated neighborhood after another forced Dean to head southeast. Sam switched cassette tapes twice before he sighed wearily. "Dean, I know you're driving, but why are we heading this way?"

Dean shook his head and shrugged. "I dunno." He shrugged against Sam's confused expression. "I dunno," he repeated. A block and a half later, Dean took a sudden left turn and parked next to a small neighborhood store. "All right. I'll go see if there's a map somewhere." He exited the car and before stepping into the dark, uninhabited mini store, Dean detoured around the car to check the damage. He grimaced at the long, ugly scratch and turned away, whimpering.

Sam watched his brother disappear into the vacated store. He didn't like Dean going in alone, although he had no inclination to follow. Sam slipped out of the car and grabbed the Glock from the glove compartment while Marco slipped out. Sam leaned against the Impala and watched the rottie as she sniffed for a good spot.

Little Brother eyed the houses around them. No cars. No children's toys in the front yards. Very little damage done to the buildings around them. There were, however, strange holes in the asphalt. Sam's inquisitive nature beckoned him to investigate, but he knew Dean would kick his ass for leaving the car. Marco trotted back when Dean's .45 barked from inside the store. Sam startled and ran three lengths when his brother burst out the door, a ridiculous smile painted over his face.

Dean waved the map in one hand and held a paper bag of goodies in the other. "Got the map! What?"

Sam shook his head and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I assume you ganked yourself a mutant rat."

Dean plopped behind the wheel and slipped the keys in the ignition as Marco bounded back to her place in the backseat. "Well, not a rat, exactly," he admitted. "Don't know what it was. But it's all over the back wall, now."

Sam set the safety on the Glock and quelled another shudder. His gaze lingered at the number of holes in the street while his brother rummaged through the bag of goodies. The potholes measured the same width and depth and they lined just like animal tracks.

"Gotchya water, Sammy," Dean handed him a bottle. "I looked for yogurt or something close to it but the um, _occupants_ inside were using the frozen and 'fridged section for their mad science experiments. So I got cheese, crackers and jerky. You okay with that?" Sam gave his brother a weak smile and took the munchies with quiet gratitude. Dean read the unease in Sam's eyes and waited a moment longer. "You okay?" he asked with softer tones.

Sam did not meet his gaze. "I was just surprised by the gun shot. I heard no warning and thought..."

Dean dragged his visual focus out his own window. Note to self, he thought, don't go goofing off unless you say something to Sam; he worries. He scowled to himself. "Sam, I'm sorry." He received a nod but did not feel it was enough. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I'm not going to die on you. And if I do, I'll come back and haunt your ass-start communicating through Marco or something."

There it was; the smile he loved so much. Dean rummaged the bag until his hand grasped the right object. "Look, uh, I was gonna save it for later, but..." he handed Sam a chocolate Wake-Me bar. Little Brother's smile broadened. That did it; all was right with the world, as far as Dean was concerned.

With a mouthful of Peanut M&Ms, he rolled Baby along, heading straight, still clueless as to why.

Sam ate three crackers with cheese and scanned the map like a marksman. Marco sniffed his hair then nosed his ear. "You'll have to ask Dean, girl," he said to an unspoken question.

"What's that?"

"Marco. She wants out."

"What's she gonna do, push the Impala?"

_Rrrmph._ Marco yawned and Sam rolled his window down. The rottie lapped her front paws over the seat behind Sam's shoulders and sniffed the air. She whined until Sam folded the map and caught sight of something clearly out of place.

"Dean, stop. Stop the car." He opened the door and slipped out. Marco flopped over the seat and jumped after Sam. Dean spotted what caught his brother's attention. He parked the car, checked his gun's payload and joined them, wearing caution on all sides.

Sam knelt before the skeleton of some freaky black thing lying headless in the middle of the street. Four long, tapered legs sprawled five feet in each direction. Something tunneled huge gashes into the creature's sides. A long boxy tail snaked another body length from the monster. Dean poked a long leg with his toe. His face scrunched in disconcertion. "What the living hell is this thing?"

"I don't know," Sam stood and backed off a step. "I... can't say I've seen anything like it."

"Well, something tried to make a turkey sandwich out of it." Dean wondered why they did not see blood. Wincing, he returned to the Impala's safe interior.

Sam turned to follow his brother when Marco caught a scent on the ground. She paused, sniffed, trotted off and repeated the process. Sam returned to the car then hesitated before getting in. His eyes glued to Marco, hypnotized by her movements.

He lost mental contact with the world around him. _The houses along either side of the road faded out, replaced with soot-stained boulders. Dead trees, sculpted from the bodies of the damned, stood as ominous witnesses. The world dimmed to blood red, illuminated only by fire. Screams of the condemned inside and outside the cage filled the hot, stifling air like song birds. Sam vaguely remembered this point in his life. He had been 'rented out' to a party of exceptionally powerful demons tracking Morgus, an escaped prisoner from the city of Necro Occularus. Six Hellhounds the size of cows led the hunters on the several days' old search. Two dogs trotted alongside three chariots pulled by great dinosaur-like beasts for which Sam had no name._

_Portude, a demonic frog with wings, was promoted Grand Inquisitor after Alistair's embarrassing demise. He led the hunt with such enthusiasm he lopped heads off anyone who moaned about the futility of the chase. In a scratchy growl, he ordered underlings to trudge ahead of his own chariot. To make his point clear, he snapped one such underling with a poison-laced whip. _

_Standing beside the demon frog, Sam used his psionic abilities to pick up Morgus' trail. Large heavy shackles bound him to the front rail bar. The spikes along their undersides bit deep into his wrists. Blood covered his feet and the floor. Now and again Portude wiped Sam's feet with his sharp boney finger. He licked and moaned as though Sam's blood were of chocolate._

"_I do so love our time together, my dear Samuel." Portude dragged his barbed tongue along Sam's cheek, drawing fresh blood. "Lucifer must be somewhat pleased with our work to let me use you to track that scourge."_

_Wincing against the pain, Sam nodded left. "West," he said quietly._

_Portude leapt upon the bar rail and balanced his weight with his large round toes. His sturdy leather wings expanded and he hopped from one fell beast to the next. He glided several yards ahead and caught up with Norcav, one of his three favorite lieutenants. They spoke quietly before Portude returned to Sam._

_With a command from Norcav, the hellhounds howled and wailed. The hunting party turned west. They raced down a rocky slope and crossed soggy ground. Another incline gave the party greater momentum and they sped over a vast charred and rocky plane until they found their quarry. _

_The hellhounds caught Morgus first and yanked the runaway off his feet. The tracking party surrounded their prey and Portude laughed and whooped. He gripped Sam's shoulders and sank his nails deep into skin and muscle and scraped Sam's bones until he got the screams he sought. Portude settled his mouth over Sam's neck. He tore at the skin and relished Sam's pitiful whimpering._

_Releasing his hostage, he settled dark, hollowed eyes into Sam's. "Ahhh, Samuel. My sweet, sweet Samuel." Portude ripped at Sam's lips and tore into his hair. Sam struggled against the shackles as pain needled his skin and scraped his bones._

"_Sam!" Portude ordered._

"_Sam!"_

That was not the demon's voice.

"_Sammy! Sammy_!"

Sam found himself on the ground, wrestling his brother. Breathless, he froze and searched Dean's eyes. Was he dreaming? Was that a clouded sky and real color? Was that fresh air he breathed?

Dean's eyes did not turn black. He did not use a sinister smile. Sam gulped air and gripped Dean's shirt as though his life depended on it. Dean nearly lost his balance but caught the extra weight and wrapped Sam securely in his arms.

"Here!" he said, "I'm here, Sammy! You're here with me, you're safe. Sh, sh, sh." He gently rubbed Sam's back while Little Brother wept. Sam trembled, clenched and released his fists until his breath slowed and he calmed. Sam rested his head against Dean's, grateful for physical contact, grateful for the reality in which he now lived.

"Dean," his voice came small, weak with grief. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean imagined the world around them slowed to a stand-still. He didn't even notice Marco returned and patiently sat at a respectful distance.

Sam swallowed air and tears. "I... if I promise to be good, to be as good as I can be, will you promise to always be my brother?"

To the outsider, the question sounded childish and absurd. But Dean understood. In Hell, you lose yourself, you lose your name. Escaping Hell meant you don't come back quite right... if you come back as yourself at all. He slightly squeezed Sam once. "Yeah, Sammy. I promise to be the very best brother. I promise."

Sam dropped to sleep as Dean slowly steered the Impala along Marco's path. He didn't question the hellhound's trajectory; but he did wonder why he kept going in this direction when he _knew_ he should be heading north. Dean's eyes skittered between Sam and the quiet road. He paused at the cross street and laid the back of his hand along Sam's cheek, checking for fever. Although his brother was okay, Dean considered looking for a place to crash for the night and make other plans later.

Marco returned to the Impala and stood with her paws on Dean's door. She whined and licked her nose. Dean threw her a dubious glance, not particularly happy that she marred his car with her paw prints. "What?" he asked softly. "Don't look at me, you're in charge here. And keep it down. Don't wake Sam."

The rottie darted off. About twenty yards out, she turned, eyes trained on the Impala. When Dean did nothing, she came back and did the same thing.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," Dean muttered. He turned the engine over and rolled slowly after her. Considering how his life was filled with the weird, wacky and creepy, Dean did not think it strange that he followed a dog. Marco bounded away, silly as a puppy.

They passed through a nondescript neighborhood just as unpopulated as the last several. Sam woke with a start. He shot glances everywhere until he met his brother's eyes. He settled with a heaving sigh.

"I didn't sleep very long, did I?"

"You almost fossilized, Sam. Me and Marco sat here and made faces at you the whole time. How you feeling?"

"Like crap." Sam sank lower. His skin burned. Someone poured acid cotton in his head. He rolled his window down as Dean turned right, following Marco at a languid pace.

"What the hell is that?"

Sam lifted his dry eyes to the left. All houses stood undisturbed except one where someone or some thing sliced off the front wall. He sat up and reached for the Glock. Dean pulled the Impala to a stop as Marco disappeared into the mangled house. He parked the car and rechecked the payload on his .45 before exiting. He stole a last glance at Sam who nodded, indicating he'd hang back at the ready.

Dean slipped out, made not one sound, kept his hands free and ready. Sam slipped out and stayed behind the door. His gun aimed right of his brother's position.

"_Dean!_"

Sam instantly relaxed at the sound of Camila's voice. He followed Dean into the house and smiled at Castiel as Marco nosed the angel between breathless pants. Camila released Dean from her embrace and gently embraced Sam.

"How did you know where to find us?" Sam only smiled. "Aw," Camila laid a hand on his rough cheek. "Have you taken anything, Sam? How long ago?"

"Not long."

She sympathetically hugged him closer.

"Cass!" Dean declared, "I see you've found yourself a cozy spot. There's a pretty girl willing to wait on you. All you need is a TV and a personal chef."

"Looks are deceiving, Dean," Castiel answered, non-committal.

Camila turned from Sam and sifted through her bag for another bottle of water. "I found him lying face down on the sidewalk, wounded." She handed Sam the bottle and hardened her eyes when he refused.

Dean ran his eyes along his friend's form. "What happened, Cass? Me and Sam took a left turn at Oz." Castiel averted his eyes. His shoulders slumped with weariness.

"It's complicated, Dean."

Camila answered for him: "Abaddon stole Castiel's Grace and it shattered."

"What?" both men echoed.

Camila poured water into a bowl for Marco. "The complicated part is that dragons rescued Castiel after they received parts of his Grace."

Dean stared at Camila while his head tried to put her words into some logical equation. No go. He slowly blinked. "You tellin' me that those monsters who gleefully hate-banged our planet now share some of Cass' angel mojo? Aaaand where's that lead? We're not buying Girl Scout cookies from them now, are we?" He glowered when she shrugged.

Castiel answered for her, "Adrith said they've already begun reconstruction-"

"Cass," Dean cut in, "no matter how much _FEMA_ they put into the world, the fact is, they're going to be hated, hunted and hung up for Chinese New Year decor. The best thing for them to do is leave the planet."

Castiel slowly sat up. His beautiful blue eyes settled on Sam who occupied himself with Marco. "There's a hitch in that plan, Dean," he answered slowly.

Dean's jaw line tightened. Castiel almost never used slang. "And that is?"

"The dragons don't possess all of my Grace, only splinters of it. The rest of it is lost."

"Lost?" Dean and Sam asked together.

Sam turned from Marco and staggered to his feet. "Where do you think it might be?"

"That's just it, Sam. We don't know. The dragons are searching everywhere for the pieces, but so far they've found nothing."

"Maybe we can help out, Cass," Sam offered.

"Not here in Stephen King's back yard, Sam," Dean objected. "Let's get this cast and crew back to Indiana. We can rate and debate there." He turned to go, hesitated, then stepped back with a mischievous grin first at Cass then at Camila. "You two get to share the back seat with Marco."

Dean drove straight through the state line. Not a car or a soul occupied the toll booth. Afternoon drooped into the stillness of the late spring evening. Castiel and Sam slept slumped against their doors. Camila sat silent as The Who played one of their 'twelve-inch' versions of "Who Are You".

Marco lay between Camila and Castiel as though they were pillows. She stretched and yawned every so often and until they were half way to Nashville, the hellhound did not stir. They were just at the outskirts of Columbia when Marco sat up and whined.

At first Dean ignored her. He also did not see Sam's left hand clench and release once. Marco whined again and set her forepaws on the back of the seat. She licked her nose.

Dean glanced over his shoulder, a little annoyed. "Hey, paws off the 'pulstry, Pooch."

"She probably needs out," Camila suggested.

Marco whined and tried to reach Sam with her tongue. She panted and whined until Dean hit the turn signal to shift lanes.

Sam jerked from sleep and slammed his palms against the dash. His breath came in short, panicked bursts and he slapped the windshield, then his window.

_The Cage was a dimension within the dimension in Hell. What experts either don't know or fail to say is that Lucifer was never the only occupant in the Cage. But how could the experts know? As far as he knew, Sam was the only person to escape. The Cage was filled with Things, with Creatures and Persons the likes of which no Human knew. Along this landscape of eternal punishment lay devices meant to reinforce the horror of the Afterlife in Hell. _

_For example: The Box. A simple metal trap, enclosed save for a single mesh screen at the front. Boxes dotted the Cage's dismal landscape. Victims trapped in them suffered horrors Sam only knew by their screams. He avoided them merely on principle. But he ran into Michael. After hiding from the condemned archangels for months, Sam accidentally ran into Michael and things went from worse to much, much worse. Michael, who refused to let go of Adam, chased Sam along the Gully, a trench of fire and blood that ran from the Hills of Char Ostan to the Gates of Tannin. _

_Michael caught him and shoved Sam into a Box. It compressed him, squeezed as tightly as his frame allowed without breaking bones. And there Sam stayed, hunched in one position for weeks until he thought he'd lose all his rational. Then the box flipped open and stretched and Sam's body stretched with it. Long and far, the damn contraption pulled Sam's joints clear out of their sockets. Arms, legs, fingers, toes, even his spine pulled to the point of damage. _

_Night and day he lay in excruciating pain until one afternoon steel spikes shot up and impaled Sam head to toe. He jerked once._

A curtain of night enveloped an empty Tennessee highway replaced the blood-red sky. And although his eyes snapped wide open, Sam did not register the difference; he saw only Hell, heard the chilling screams and suffered blistering pain.

He jerked again and fell out his door the half second Dean stopped the car. _Sam slipped down the ditch and waded through the bitter stench to the other side. He climbed up the rocky bank and ran and ran. Voices of the damned called him to free them. Their wails and pleas nipped at his ears and tore at his heartstrings. _

_The Box never came with a key. Someone else had to release him. And someone did; by accident. Sam remembered her wail as he lay in the heat and flame from the ground. The woman came to feed on him. Instead, she laid a hand on a trigger. The box ejected Sam and snapped on her like a living thing._

_Sam lay half dead, incapable of feeling anything but waves of agony. MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! Every cell in his body shrieked with survival instinct. If something crawling along the ground did not find the prey, unspeakable things in the sky certainly did. Forcing his bloodied, weary body into action, Sam staggered to his feet. He stumbled along at first, treading along acid-laden soil._ _He did not know at what point he broke into a run, he simply ran; direction and destination held no meaning. _

_A familiar bark sounded far, far away and yet excruciatingly close. Sam paused in his desperate flight. A force gently knocked him to the ground._

And Marco licked the side of his face and whimpered. Sam gripped her for dear life and sobbed. The sweet darkness of night pushed aside the dismal landscape of Hell. The smell of long grass and the noise of a distant highway replaced the stink of despair and the cries of the accursed.

Best of all came the comforting firm voice of Dean Winchester. "Sammy."

Dean and Camila helped his brother back to the car. Sam shivered until he returned to sleep. They arrived at the ten-mile mark north-side of Nashville and crossed the state line into Middlesboro, Kentucky. Dean pulled into a truck stop, never happier to see something that resembled normalcy. He stared at the Impala's gas gauge and wondered how the Chevy still sat at the half way mark. Honestly, he should have filled her up twice by now.

He didn't dare question it. Glancing at his brother, Dean relaxed, glad to see Sam slept soundly. Marco lay between them, her head on Sam's lap.

Camila stirred and stretched while Castiel, much like Sam, remained undisturbed. Gazing at the huntress, Dean nodded to the outside, indicating he wanted to speak with her outside.

Camila managed to close the door quietly and joined Dean outside. She waited as he tried his cell phone for the billionth time. Several yards to their right a family of six chattered about food, or rather the lack thereof. The children romped in and out their minivan. The mother nagged while another adult female announced the lack of signal on her cell phone.

Dean sighed heavily and clicked his phone off. He held up his keys, his eyes dark with exhaustion. "I'm still getting no signal. I'm seeing double right now and I'm not about to do something stupid."

"You want me to drive?" Camila asked carefully.

"You whisper a word of this to anyone and I'll send something icky after you."

She scowled. "No need to get huffy. Where do I go?"

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Take I-74. It'll lead straight to Cicero." She nodded but Dean stared hard, uncertain.

"Okay!" she insisted.

Dean reluctantly slipped into the backseat and checked on Little Brother. Marco lifted her head, ears perked. She greeted Dean with a weary butt-wag. As he settled at the corner between the seat and the door, Dean glimpsed at his angel friend and for half a second, thought he saw a smile. It vanished and Castiel once again rested peacefully.

Dean hoped the smile wasn't about his relinquishing control of his car to a girl; he'd never live it down.

Sunrise greeted the Impala two and a half hours after Dean traded with Camila. The huntress pulled into Cicero with silent trepidation. All three men and the dog slept as though under a spell. But Camila was not fooled by Dean's calm outer appearance. Now and again his hand clutched whatever weapon he hid in his left jacket pocket.

She maneuvered the Impala along unpopulated streets. The whole city huddled in quiet corners. No children played in the streets. One police car patrolled the down town area. Fallen trees blocked many streets. Litter, trash and debris scattered along every street, yard and sidewalk. Camila winced at a brown PT Cruiser lying upside down. Deep jagged cuts wounded the chassis. Someone or some thing savagely flipped the car; the driver, now a stiff corpse, still occupied the vehicle.

That wasn't quite so bad, now she thought on it. Things could have been far worse for Cicero. Camila took a final right-hand turn and parked in front of Lisa's house. She stared at the door and windows, hoping to determine whether or not someone inhabited the house. Camila looked to Sam. His open eyes stared into nothing; awake, but not alert.

Dean woke with a deep breath and disembarked. He examined the neighborhood while he mentally gathered his bearings. His training took over and the hunter spotted things missing or out of place. Claw marks scraped deep gashes into the sidewalks and asphalt. The neighbor's house across the street suffered a brutal attack. The shattered windows reminded Dean of gaping wounds. The door hung open like a broken, protruding bone. A dog lay under the brush next to the neighbor's driveway, half-eaten.

Dean allowed himself to examine his wife's home. Tell-tale signs of a rough rainstorm splattered the front sidewalk with mud and wind-whipped leaves. The grass stood at least eight inches. Lisa's car sat in the driveway. All the windows glittered in spider-web patterns. No telling what broke them; a weapon, a rock... Dean hoped it wasn't someone's skull.

Camila tinkled the Impala's keys like a windchime and Dean acknowledged they needed to get moving. He tapped at Sam's window. "Hey," Dean peered in as Camila rounded the car from her side. "This is not what it looks like."

Confusion crossed Sam's features. "What. That you were tired and let Camila drive the car? It's not that big a deal, Dean."

Dean squinted at the sky. "My reputation is at stake."

Sam kept his expression neutral. "What? You want me to roll my eyes, sigh and tell you you're not funny?"

Dean tapped the bonnet. "I need Marco, Sammy. She available?"

"Got an appointment? I'll stay with Cass." Dean nodded. Sam handed his brother two guns and ordered Marco to keep an eye on Dean and Camila.

The huntress rounded the Impala and traded car keys for the Colt 1911. "What's going on? What are we doing?"

"You and me are taking Schnookums and heading inside."

"You don't think they're home?"

Dean led her across the overgrown yard. "I don't think anybody's home anywhere around here." He tried his cell as they approached the door. No answer. No service. He tried the door. Locked.

With a huff of breath to keep calm, Dean signaled for Camila to take Marco and sneak into the garage while he rounded the back yard on his own. They split up and Sam's brother threw a final glance at Camila before he slished along tall grasses, silent as a cat.

The wooden fence on his side of the house lay splintered. Claw marks left deep gashes. Dean didn't want to guess what made them. He peered round the scraggly brush and frowned at a lawn not mowed since their departure for Delaware. Amid the tall grasses, Dean rested his eyes on a mound of dirt and stones. A cross crafted of splintered fence boards capped the north end. The home made grave lay as long as a person. Dean swallowed against further thoughts.

Don't panic, he told himself. Get all the facts first. Maybe the house was empty and that Lisa and Ben escaped to a safe place. Lisa was smart. She'd do that.

Dean rounded the back, kept his weapon at the ready. He lowered it with relief when he found Roxi tied to the back porch.

She stood and whined at his approach.

Dean undid her leash and pet her round the ears. "Did you know it was me, girl? Huh? Is that why you didn't bark?" The poor creature felt thin under his hands. Her dirty coat suggested a lot of time passed while they were away. Dean spotted a bowl of water and an empty food dish. He frowned. "Okay, let me tend to some business first then we'll get you something to eat, okay? Go find Sammy. Go on." He watched her leave, bypassing the lonely grave. A sick, worried feeling spread from Dean's heart to the rest of his body. He pushed it down, refusing to assume anything.

Sneaking past the dirty sliding glass doors, Dean ducked under the dusty kitchen window. He tip-toed into the dark house using the utility room door. From there, He eased over a pile of moldy laundry and into the hallway. He froze and stared. Claws or blades sliced up the walls and left pictures, photographs and their glass frames in pieces. A trail of blood lined one wall and Dean's heart quickened its beat. His hunter side suggested things his heart refused to consider. Swallowing fear again, Dean passed the bathroom door then the room Sam slept in.

Camila met him from the other side of the livingroom. Marco followed, sniffing everything, even the air. Furniture lay in as many pieces as the backyard fence. Dark brown splatters covered the carpet and the walls. Old blood smeared across the livingroom wall above the broken TV: _**WINCHESTER**_.

Dean caught his breath when Camila silently pointed to a lone figure sitting backwards in a chair, staring out the dirty kitchen window.

Dean put his gun away. He didn't see Lisa from the backyard. He wiped a hand over his face in relief. She was alive. He inwardly mocked his hunter's sense. The family was safe. Dean took two steps toward the kitchen and glanced back to Camila.

Lisa lifted a bottle of warm beer to her lips. She spoke with a tired, scratchy voice. "You know, I should have known better than to let you back the last time you came, Dean. Really. Have no idea what persuaded me to take you back. I think... I think I believed I could somehow housebreak you; that I could domesticate the hunter. Can't do that with someone in your line of... occupation. At least... I know that now."

Dean entered the kitchen and spotted Ben's name carved into the table. Big letters, chiseled deep into the wood: **BENJAMIN BRADEN 2001-2014. **

Dean's heart dropped. Grief stole his breath and whatever words he might have had for his family, for his wife.

Lisa did not turn. She took another drink. "I knew what you were, Dean. I knew what you did for a living. Had thought that if I chose not to believe in it, it'd all just fade away." She scoffed, "as if, somehow you were a little boy living in a dream world and I'd just enjoy the companionship and the sex and appreciate that you were a good father figure for Ben."

His voice cracked under the strain, "Lisa... Honey, I'm sorry." Her words shredded his heart. The front door opened and closed quietly. Camila took Marco and silently stepped outside to allow them privacy.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Dean Winchester. Don't you dare." Lisa turned to him with hollow eyes and a drawn face. Her chapped, blood-stained lips matched the red scabs lining her cheeks and arms. A deep scar lined the right side of her pretty face. She approached the hunter with an eerie cool calm. "I waited for you to come back. I waited and hoped. It's been two months. I don't know where the hell you've been. But at this point, I don't care, either. I'm... I'm passed it. I've dealt with it. I'm here. I just... can't understand how the world..." her voice trailed off and her hardened gaze drifted sideways.

Lisa leaned against the kitchen counter. Her slender arms crossed, her face set as hard as her voice. "You know that weird feeling when you make a choice that you know you'd normally not make but you make it anyway? One of those choices that you're not quite sure it's really you that's making the choice? Well, that's what happened. I felt badly for you, sure. I wanted to help, yes. But... but there was something more, I think. I mean..." her brown eyes lifted to the ceiling as she searched for words. "I mean it wasn't all bad. Don't get me wrong, Dean. But while you were with us, something in me kept saying 'something's not quite kosher.' You and your little Robin-Hood friends took off for Delaware and a few days later I found out why it was that for five years I kept suspecting."

"Suspecting what?" Dean's mouth ran dry. He didn't want to face this. He hoped to never see his wife like this, battered and traumatized. Now the world lay as broken inside Dean's soul as it stood outside the door. He choked on his anguish. He hurt for her. He ached for every scar and scab that marred her skin. Dean tried to swallow the tsunamic sorrow flooding his being.

"I suspected something was going to happen to take you away from me. I realized the day Bobby called was the day you were going to leave. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't your trip to Delaware that changed my mind about our relationship, Dean. I'm sure there were reasons why you didn't come back, why you didn't call me after the first three times." she paused. Her lips trembled with evil memories.

Dean failed to suppress the tear as it escaped his eye. He could not breathe, could not speak, could not move. Lisa was strong but fragile; his flower, now trampled by tragedy. Why, why, why was he always the curse in someone else's life? Why? He wanted so desperately to scoop up his crushed flower and make everything better, to hold her in his hands and make her happy again. This was _his fault_. His. Because he was selfish and stupid enough to believe he could have everything.

The 'flower' spoke with an eerily calm voice, telling of her suffering as though she were describing a movie: "It was the _thing_ that came looking for you." Lisa's eyes searched the ceiling then returned to Dean. "I say 'thing' because he was barbaric. He and his friends walked right through that door." she pointed to the front door, her face now hardened with rising anger. "They tortured me for six days. I begged them to leave my son alone. I _begged_ them, Dean. They kept asking about you, where you were, who you were with and why. I told them you were in Delaware. I didn't know why. I told them you were with Bobby Singer. What was I supposed to do? They had my son! And _Alex_, whatever his last name was, he thought it was funny to carve symbols on Ben's face. He..." she choked on a sob. "He..." she choked on another one and gasped for breath, "THAT FUCKING SON OF A BITCH MURDERED MY SON! AND I WANT HIM BACK!" her demeanor dissolved into tears. Lisa fell to her knees, bowed over and bitterly wept as if to pour her broken soul upon the floor.

Dean dropped before her and held her close as she repeated: "Give him back! Give him back!"

At a complete loss for words, Dean could only hold her and waged a war with his own grief. The child who should have been his son was gone.

Camila leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, eyes cast on the dogs. Roxi and Marco quietly played on the overgrown grass until mid afternoon when seventy-degrees plus with a gentle breeze made for a comfortable lazy day.

The huntress settled into the driver's side but left the door open. Castiel sat silently, his blue eyes stared into nothing and Camila wondered if he were seeking revelation. Sam slept and woke with a start several times. She took his hand at one point and offered a light smile, one he could not return.

Three P.M. hit and Camila sighed deeply. "I guess I should go see what he wants to do."

"I advise against it," Castiel objected quietly. "You do not want to know what's going on."

She looked to Sam, her question repeated only in her expression. Sam scrunched against the door and rubbed the back of his left hand. "I only care about what's good for Dean, Camila. If Castiel says to give Dean time and space, then I'll give him all that he needs." Sam turned away, choking up with anxiety.

Camila heaved a sigh. "All right. We wait, then."

"_I will not leave Ben. And you cannot stay."_

The words burned Dean's heart like an epitaph. He trembled and swallowed hard. "Lis, Sweetie... just come with us to South Dakota-"

"-I don't..." she dropped her head as tears rained down her bruised face. "No." she drew a stuttering breath. "No... Dean. No. Don't ask me that. I can't leave." Her voice squeaked with grief. "My son's here." tears drenched her face and the grieving mother did not bother wiping them. "I'm not leaving him. And I don't want you to stay."

"_Please."_ Dean begged. "I know it'll be hard. But you and me-"

"_No,_ Dean. There can't be a you and me. The minute you found your brother... the minute you answered the call from your friend Bobby, it was over." she shuddered and sniffed but rebuffed him when Dean tried to wrap his arms around her. "No. No." she drew another shuddering breath. "No. Your brother has his dog. I'm going to stand here and watch you leave."

"Lisa-" Dean barely held the dam. He kept swallowing to keep from breaking. If he broke, Camila and Sam would have to come in and drag him out.

"I'm sorry, too," Lisa whispered. "There is nothing you can say or do."

"Lis, don't do this-"

"You can't bring Ben back, Dean. You cannot replace my son. You can't fix it. You can't fix _me_. It was me or Sam and you made your choice."

"Lisa, if you'd just let me-" She turned from him; their relationship fully dissolved. The haunted woman's eyes settled out the window and stared at her son's grave, yet fresh and untouched by grass or weed. "Good-bye, Dean."

He gave the 'hand painting' above the fireplace a final gaze. No doubt his name was written in Ben's blood. Alex better hope he never finds Dean, or that Dean never finds him. Tearfully, Dean fished through his pockets and found a twenty dollar bill. It was all he had with him. With trembling lips and tears he could not keep bound, Dean set the twenty on the table and quietly departed.

He shivered the moment the door closed behind him. The sun cast western shadows on the ruined neighborhood. Without a word to his companions, Dean popped the trunk and reached for a pocket glued to the back of the subwoofer. He plucked out an envelope, figured the amount of cash they might need for the trip back to South Dakota and took out the rest. He returned to the front door and was not surprised to find it locked. Undeterred, he slid the cash under the door. It was the very, very least he could do. His hand rested against the door. Sorrow clouded his face and before tears escaped him again, he aimed back for the Impala. But rather than getting in, he walked the way they came in.

Camila gaped at his behavior and wondered whether or not to wait longer. She looked to Sam whose mind wandered elsewhere. She settled down and sighed heavily. "God, what am I supposed to say to him?"

Castiel stirred and winced in pain. "Just drive behind him, Camila. Dean Winchester carries his grief his own way; he has to deal with it alone. It's just how he is."

She looked to Sam and realized he'd been silently crying. He nodded in consensus. Camila felt like a fool for her lack of empathy and started the car. She kept the Impala at a discreet distance while Dean walked through his grief far into the wee morning hours.

By eight A.M. Camila decided she had enough and parked the car at an intersection nearby a golf course-two towns over. Sam startled out of sleep and batted his eyes open as the huntress left the car, slamming the door.

"Oh, God," Sam muttered. At least Dean was not as prone to hitting women as he would a man. Sam winced at that thought and wondered why that occurred to him.

"Hey!" Camila called. "I need you to take over."

"Just keep driving." Dean snarled.

"I've _been driving_, Dean," she retorted. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened. I'm sorry there's nothing anybody can do to fix this-not even you. But I do not know my way around South Dakota, it's cold and none of us have had anything to eat in twenty-four." she paused as he kept walking as if he hadn't heard a word. Damn, he could be stubborn! Camila pulled out one more card from her sleeve: "Dean!" she called again, "your brother cannot take the trioxalate without food! Now you either get your perfect ass back here and drive or I'll let you _walk_ to South Dakota!" she did not give into his wet, anguish-filled eyes.

Dean drove in dead silence. Grief and anger pumped enough adrenaline in his veins that they arrived in South Dakota in four hours. Sam wondered offhandedly how his brother managed to evade speed traps. But then, much of the world lay in ruins. Chances were law enforcement had greater problems than a speeding driver. Sam tried to call Bobby on several occasions with the same failed service as Dean.

Dean wasted no time on the highway. Roxi smelled awful. Her fur lay matted under the topcoat and she whined now and again, offering kisses to Camila who didn't exactly find them charming. He pulled the Impala up to the wrecking yard gates by ten-fifteen PM. Three hunters, two dogs and an angel sat and stared in silent trepidation. The dark, quiet yard sent chills down Dean's back.

Dean turned the car off and searched for sigils, traps, salt lines and hidden cameras. "Anybody home?" he asked quietly.

Sam stirred and winced over stiff joints and a throbbing head. "How about I let Marco out?"

"No..." Dean checked his gun and the ammo. He fished the glove compartment and from a hidden area produced a packet of special bullets. He pocketed those then turned to Camila. "I don't think even a hellhound can get through there. Me and Camila will sneak around. Do not leave the car."

Sam was fine with that. He sunk as if to disappear into his jacket. Castiel sat up and kept a quiet eye on Sam and the world outside the Impala. Roxi whimpered then panted. The angel settled back and reassured himself they were safe in the car; with or without the dogs.

Dean led Camila west of the property and along a sturdy wooden fence. Knowing Bobby Singer had been in the business longer than she'd been out of high school, Camila did not doubt the path Dean took was the only one not booby-trapped along the outer edges of the wrecking yard. She copied him move-for-move and kept her mouth shut. Toward the south-western plot, Dean pushed his way between a series of carefully-planted shrubs.

"Careful," he kept his voice low, "there's rat traps in here. Unless you don't mind losing fingers, don't use anything but your shoulders to push your way through."

Camila kept her chin down, hands close to her body. Their feet crunched on clumps of rock salt and as they passed the fenceline, Camila spotted a series of Enochian symbols glowing softly in the dark. Alex was smart, but not this smart. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the sweeping, fluid lines of Sam Winchester's work.

They emerged into the wrecking yard between two fence posts. Dean froze and glanced left then right. He grabbed her hand and ran for a pile of cars then leaned against them. With a finger across his lips, he warned her to remain quiet. He counted to ten and they dashed into another isle of automobiles. He relaxed and heaved a sigh.

"Okay. It's clear."

"What the-what was that?"

"Noise detectors. Bobby can't keep an eye on the whole yard. Even with a good dog, the place can't be guarded by one person. Come on. We'll bring the car in then check out the rest of the place."

"Well...is Bobby here?"

Dean flipped on his cell phone. No serivce.

Marco woofed once and Sam snapped awake. The front

gate opened and a piercing bright light shot into the car. Bobby stepped out, shotgun in hand. "Dean, that you, Boy?"

Relieved, Castiel stepped out the car to answer. "It's me and Sam, Bobby. Dean and Camila-"

"Git yer butts inside right now! I ain't comin' out t' carry you in 'cross the threshold! An' where in the hell's your brother?"

Sam grinned in spite of his weariness. He followed Cass inside. Marco and Roxi trotted behind as they playfully battled over who went in first. Bobby closed the door, flipped on the porch light and struck up a pot of coffee. Sam sat at the kitchen table and simply stared at the cloth. Castiel found himself a stool. Neither said a word until Bobby set coffee in front of Sam and sat at the other side.

"I'm glad you're okay, Bobby," Sam's voice strained for strength. The front door opened and Camila's lilting voice called before Dean's footfalls thunked the floor.

"Hello, there. Sorry to intrude." Her smile came forced and weary.

Dean set the safety on his gun and set it down. "Izzat coffee I smell?"

"It's fresh, anyway," Bobby grunted.

Camila smiled at Dean's surrogate father. "I'm really glad you're okay, Bobby. I'm sorry I couldn't get to you."

"No worries, Missy. A dragon died and crashed near the hospital I stayed in. I signed out AMA and the nurses all but pushed me out as the emergency room flooded with new victims. And Sam, you're drooping there, Son."

Dean set his coffee down and signaled for Sam to go with him. He paused. "Aahh... Camila, there's a couch in the library you can crash on. Cass, you can use the one in the livingroom. Me and Sam will take a light snooze and then I'll take you back to Wisconsin in the morning, Camila."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I have contacts here. Chances are phone lines and cell phones are out of service in and out of Green Bay. I can't get a hold of Abby. But I am making pancakes in the morning." Camila winked at Sam.

Dean led his brother and the two mutts upstairs. There was a good deal of things to sort out, stories to be told and other situations to be resolved. But for now, for tonight, they were home.

Sam thought how nice it would be to have a shower. But sleep in a real bed tucked away from the world and its troubles overrode the idea. Roxi parked herself on the floor, Marco by the door.

Dean took his shower and returned, finding Sam still up, staring into his hands. The eldest sat on his own bed and hesitated. "Sammy?"

Sam did not look up. "What happened, Dean?"

Dean did not need to guess Sam meant Lisa. He hesitated. All the emotion he walked off in Indiana threatened to cloud his heart again. The wound in his soul bled and he did not want to talk about it. "Alex." Dean could not finish that sentence. So he tried another one, "Ben..." he couldn't talk about that, either. He heaved a sigh, "Lisa... Lisa had to bury him."

Sam stared, speechless and horrified. His lungs constricted with regret. If he had stayed in Green Bay... if he had been smarter, found a better way to send Dean back to his home, maybe they'd be alive. Sam sank into himself. He knew Alex and knew what Alex was capable of. But this... _a child_? Sam looked away. He should have... or should not have... one way or another, it was his fault. Dean lost everything; a home and a family. All for what? To save the world? To be a brother to someone whose head wasn't screwed on right? He wanted to tell Dean how sorry he was, but Sam didn't even know where to begin to apologize. He could never make up for that loss. Never. All the air left his lungs as Sammy tried to keep his reactions to himself. He gripped the bedding, batted his eyes. In three strides he made for the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean spun around. "Where do you think you're going? Sam!" he took one step after his brother when his flooding emotions caught up with him and Dean bowed over, struggling against them. He should have said nothing until morning. Everything laid out raw inside his heart. He wanted to just let Sam go and he wanted to bring his brother back. _Lisa_...

Bobby called Sam's name downstairs as the front door opened and closed. Camila ordered Marco outside. Torn between personal grief and concern for Sam, Dean remained frozen in place, bowed over. Silent tears splattered the floor while he gasped for breath. It was bad enough he wept, he wasn't going to wail like a little girl. He wasn't!

The soft rustle of material outside the bedroom door was not lost on Dean's hunter instincts. "I'm alright, Castiel." his voice dropped between sadness and resolute determination. He didn't need anyone to coddle him.

"I am sorry, Dean. I wish I could have helped."

"Well, you can't-and you couldn't." Dean pushed himself up. God, he hurt inside! All the outward pain in the world wasn't going to make it better. He sat on his bed, drained. "Why can't I have..."

Castiel rounded the corner doorpost. "The best of both worlds,?" Cass finished for him. He frowned. "That's a rare thing, even among angels."

"Tell me, Cass: would Ben be alive were it not for me?"

"Dean, sooner or later-"

"Yes or no, Cass!"

Castiel kept his voice calm, "Sooner or later Alex would have connected the dots between Mason and Sam. And from Sam he would have found you. It was only a matter of time."

Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling. "That son of a bitch is dead. He wants a fight, I'll give it to him." Dean half expected Castiel to put up an argument. But the weary angel said nothing and turned to go. Dean pursed his lips. "Cass," he searched those blue eyes and found no impatience or annoyance in them. "Thanks." Cass tilted his head, confused. His lips moved 'for what', but no sound came from his voice. Dean stood. He wanted to crash hard and not dream. But Sam came first. "For trying to give me a heads-up earlier."

Castiel opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but Dean only pressed by, descended the stairs and left the house.

Cool night air made Dean realize summer approached its end. Two months gone meant he and Sam missed the Dakota two-month summer. Christmas was coming and Ben wasn't going to be there. Dean choked as he passed the Impala. Deep breath. Concentrate on the moment, not the past.

"SAM!" he called. "Sam! Don't make me come out there and hunt your ass down!"

This year would be his first Christmas with Sam in five years. And no, don't ask him to do anything about Halloween. No masks. No ghosts, ghouls or devils. No pumpkin art.

"SAMMY!"

However, if summer ended, it'd be a perfect time to take a few trips. First on the list: Colorado. Maybe two or three concerts. Sam always loved concerts, no matter how he denied it. _Sea World_.

"SA-there you are! You made me come and hunt your ass down." Sam sat on the back end of an old sedan. Marco lay on the ground, her head on her paws. Sam held himself tightly and stared into nothing. When his brother remained tight-lipped, Dean sat next to him and raised his eyes to the stars. He almost counted the seconds between them but could not stay silent.

"Sammy, it's cold out here. You and me 'r both tired and strung out. Let's deal with crap in the morning, okay?"

Sam trembled and shrugged. He batted his eyes, swallowed hard. If he said anything, his voice might betray him.

"Sam, come on." Dean slid off the car and tugged Sam's right hand.

But Little Brother shook his head and swallowed hard again. "You were happy," his voice squeaked. Two deep breaths. "I wanted you to be happy. And... and there's nothing-" he cut himself off as his eyes shot away.

Dean ground his teeth. "Can't we just talk about this later?"

Sam uncharacteristically grabbed Dean by the shirt collar and stared hard with full-black eyes. "_If it weren't for me-! I did this!_"

Dean gripped his brother's wrists as a light kindled in his eyes. "You did nothing! You hear me? None of this is because of you! I WANTED YOU TO COME HOME! Good Christ, Sam! I'm the selfish one! I wanted you to come home to me! You had the right to stay in Heaven but you chose to come home to _me_!" Dean yanked Sam off the trunk and gripped him tightly.

"I'm sorry!" Sam tearfully voiced into Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Dean choked and finally released his anguish into Sam's jacket. He made his choices; he chose Sam. _Sam chose him over Heaven_. Dean held tightly to that thought. He wasn't okay. Sam wasn't okay. But they had family. That was everything they needed.

End


End file.
